


Thing of Beauty

by Hobbitual_Psychick



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Case Fic, F/M, Fanart, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Dean/Original Female Character(s), M/M, Other, Past Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Prank War, Rape/Non-con Elements, brotherly feelings, sam & Dean - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-06-22 01:49:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 42,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15571086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hobbitual_Psychick/pseuds/Hobbitual_Psychick
Summary: A sense of humor in the midst of a situation that's messed up, it's a Thing of Beauty.It's part of how Sam and Dean stay sane, or at least sane-ish.The boys head out on a case, one that's finally at a beach, trying to get to the bottom of 5 drowning deaths in Montauk, a town with more than its fair share of internet history.





	1. Chapter 1

Thing of Beauty

 

**Chapter 1**

Sa-m!" Dean Winchester’s green eyes flash open as his hand finds the gun under his pillow, he’s looking for a target before he's even fully awake.  
Two deep breaths, as his eyes scan the room for threats and register where he is.

The bunker, his room.... home.  
Everything is where it should be and yet the dream lays heavy on him, twisting his gut. Images flick through his mind like blackjack cards in a Vegas dealer’s hands, Sam hurt, Sam in trouble, Sam yelling his name....

"Just a dream" he mutters reaching for the bottle on the nightstand and takes a swig.

Except what if....  
Ever since the bitch of letters waltzed into the bunker, banished Cas and kidnapped his brother there's a tension in him that he can't quite shake. Mom leaving only made it worse.  
It’s alright when they're on the road, when he can look across the room at the bed furthest from the door and know Sam’s there. But here in the bunker, they've got their own rooms.  
Usually that's great, fan-fucking-tastic, but right now it's ...

Dean realises what he’s doing.  
He's paced across the room and back, twice now. What he wants is to walk into Sams room and just look at him, but that's stupid.

The bunkers warded, they've added extra layers of security, done everything but release attack dogs around the perimeter for Chucks sake.

Wanting to go and stare at his little brother sleep, just because he had a bad dream... its right next door to neurotic and needy!

"Damn-it.”

  
He's out the door and halfway to Sams room before he's even made the decision.

If he's quiet, Sam will never know.

He eases into the room silently and crosses the room in two strides, stands looking down at his little brother, sprawled across his bed like an attenuated toddler.

And it settles that jangling anxious thing that’s been clawing at his chest, since he woke with his brother’s name on his lips and his heart racing.

  
His eyes rove over the planes of Sam’s face and he winces once again, at how thin and ragged Sammy still looks. He’s worn thin by this life, and Dean feels guilty for it. But Sam’s all he’s got.

Sammy doesn't look like a kid anymore, even when he's sleeping; that thought twists Deans insides with equal parts grief, guilt and anger as he searches for the vestiges of Sammy, the kid brother he's spent his whole life trying, trying to protect..... and comes up empty handed.

Except he notes with a small smile, except for the hanks of hair falling over half Sam’s face, the hair that irritates Dean so much sometimes he just wants to shave it all off. But to do that would be a weird crime, that hair has been his brothers quiet rebellion, his shelter against the world, pretty much his whole life.

  
Dean reaches out a hand to brush the hair away from his brothers’ face. Then guilt stops his hand, as the thought hits him with force that he's standing there gazing down at his brother like a moony prince in a budget production of sleeping beauty. Uncomfortable, he turns to leave, disgusted at himself for being such a sap, reminds himself that he’s the one that demands no chick flick moments.  
But he pauses for a moment more looking down at Sam, feels a sly smile spread across his face.

  
Ideas fill his head, and an evil grin lights up his eyes. Silently he strides out of the room. Dean has a plan, and things to do.

 

…oooOooo…

 

Half an hour later Dean looks down at his handiwork, a smug smile on his face and snaps a few photos from varying angles, congratulates himself on a job well done.

…ooo0ooo…

 

Sam wakes slowly, he flails one hand up to run it through his hair and finds an obstruction. Puzzled he looks at the thing in his hand. A pink ribbon tied into a bow.

"What the....?"

He rubs his other hand across his mouth and it comes away pink.

A horrifying suspicion coalesces in his mind as he stumbles out of bed and scrambles to the mirror.

"DEAN!!?....." he bellows in horror as he surveys what lies before him.

His hair is in two plaits, one unravelling and one still tied off tightly with a bright pink bow.  
His face.... well now that the pink lipstick is smudged around his mouth he resembles a subdued clown (clowns he hates clowns) or maybe a hooker with a five-year-old makeup artist.  
His first instinctive reaction wants to be to storm out of his room and clock his brother, then possibly force feed him two pretty pink bows.  
But, he's pretty sure that's what Dean wants, for him to come storming in like a little bitchy drama queen in a temper tantrum, makeup all smeared across his face, with the unraveling pigtails flying.  
Instead he yanks the last bow off and runs his fingers through his hair to remove the plaits, he wipes at his face roughly with his sleep shirt.  
The person looking back at him now looks like a dishevelled transgender hooker, one with wavy hair and makeup smears that haven’t come off.  
Trust Dean to find industrial strength makeup for his art project. Huffing through his bangs at his reflection, Sam turns and stomps down the hall to the shower.

…ooo0ooo…

 

"DEAN!!?...."

Dean looks up from the laptop screen at the curdled shout from the direction of his brothers room and grins in anticipation.

"Mornin' sleepin' beauty," he chuckles dryly, turning back to the screen, his back to the door. He pretends to be engrossed, awaiting an outraged little brother with a vendetta.

The minutes tick by and Sammy doesn't storm in.  
It appears Sams going to go with the whole revenge best served cold thing this time. Well, bring it on little brother!

A dialog box pops up, the search engine first Ash, then Charlie worked on has snagged a possible hunt.  
Five drowning deaths in as many weeks, in some seaside town, weird storms that just suddenly appear then blow over.  
A smile of anticipation flashes as Dean runs his hand over the back of his neck, it’s just what they both need, a case! He keeps digging.

 

…ooo0ooo…

 

Sam walks into the kitchen, face scrubbed pink from his shower, his stride long and full of contained fury. He glares at his brother, who is (of course) pretending to be engrossed in the laptop.  
Finally, Dean looks up at him, face blank and carefully schooled to ignorance; but there are whole oceans of amusement sparkling just below the surface of his green eyes.

"How's Mommys little princess this morning?" Dean enquires, deadpan.

Sam stops mid stride like he's been kicked, somewhere low and painful, his mouth open in shock and his hazel puppy dog eyes doing a world of kicked dog impressions.

"Dean... you didn't" Sam whispers in horror.

Dean’s mind scrambles back over what he just said, and snags on the word Mommy, then the penny drops.  
Sam knows there's always photographic evidence and he thinks that he sent a copy to Mom, the thought hadn't even occurred to him ... Cas yes, but Mom?....that would be cruel!  
He'd imagined the puzzled impassive reply from Cas briefly, (maybe something along the lines of "Dean why is Sam wearing female cosmetics?") But Cas is with Crowley at the moment, hunting Lucifer and it really doesn’t bare thinking about the torment the King of Hell could and would come up with, with that sort of ammo. Sam and Crowley had a whole antagonistic 'thing' going on, and it isn’t just because Sam tried to gank Crowley for Rowena that time.

Dean realises he'd been wool-gathering too long and Sam is still looking at him in pale horror. Dean raised a hand placatingly.

"Nah nah man, I'm not evil." he reassures. "Coffees on…uhh I think I've found us a case."  
Sam shot him a bitch face but seemed to believe him, padding over to fix two cups. Black for Dean... Sam stops in front of the fridge, in the act of reaching for milk to top off his own cup. Dean grins slyly, shooting a look at his handy work from across the room.  
Sam yanks it off the fridge.  
The pink bubble writing is a great touch, Dean thinks smugly.

"Samantha Winchester stars in ..... Sleeping Beauty."

Sam stands looking down at the flyer in his hand, looking almost puzzled.

"Dean… the makeup I get, Mom or ..." he fades off before mentioning Charlie, "but where on earth did you get the pink ribbon?"

Dean grins, nudging two things on the bench beside the laptop, a small roll of bandages and a pink hi lighter.

"Necessity an' invention Sammy, necessity an' invention."

The image of his brother, sitting there in the middle of the night colouring bandages in with a pink highlighter, forces a laugh out of him, leaves Sam shaking his head in a weird kind of wonder.

"Dean, imagine if you used that intellect for good..." he mutters rolling his eyes.

"Yeah I could probably save the world or some thin' " Dean deadpans back.

"Speaking of..." he takes a sip of coffee and taps the screen, "think I might've found us a case - at a beach no less," a grin of anticipation lights up his face. "It’s been forever since we hit the beach, Sammy.” Dean says wistfully. “Sun, sand, some beer… maybe some local wild life… we’re due somethin’ like this…”


	2. Chapter 2

  
**Chapter 2**

  
"Montauk, Newburyport, Massachusetts.” Sam reads the towns name over Deans shoulder. " Five drowning deaths in a month ....Uh, Dean…so what? I mean, it's a surf town isn't it? ... Surfing can be dangerous, right?! Is this really our kind of thing, or is it..?"  
"Add in the weather signs" his brother suggests, opens and taps the search engine dialog box with a raised eyebrow. "And a side order of dismemberment..." Dean adds mildly, and waggles his eyebrows cockily.

"Dean...Maybe lead with the dismemberment in future” Sam suggests with a weary huff, “… it’s only one though," Sam muses. "But even so, I mean plain-old people, kill people. Try to hide the evidence. A few unforcast storms aren't exactly...."

But Dean hasn't finished, he opens another web page he's been studying.  
Drowning deaths per 100,000 by state, for the previous few years. To make his point he runs his finger down the list. Massachusetts is right at the bottom. "0.4 per 100,000, and the population of this burg isn't 100,000 Sammy."

Sam’s ready to admit that it could be something, and they've gone out for less, but Dean continues.

"A big chunk of drowning deaths are kids under 4 who die in backyard pools, that's skewed further 'cos ‘ethnic minority's,’” he makes air quotes, "are 5 times more likely to drown."  
“Most adult drownings in natural water, are people who can’t swim, boating accidents or they have a component of suicide, drugs or alcohol. That an’ they are usually not locals.”  
Another swig of coffee and Dean looks up at his brother.

"All the victims are local, -if you ignore slice ‘n’ dice who hasn’t been Ided - there’s no mention of alcohol, drugs or suicide, they are all white males in their mid to late 30s, one of them a life guard, two were serious surfers, the other two... well you get my drift."

Sam looks back at his brother, Dean likes to make a big thing of not being smart.  
He's always makes out that research is above his pay grade and here he is setting up the whole thing like a trick shot on a bar pool table. Effortless.  
But, if Sam mentions any of that Dean will shrug it off, so all he says is.

"Yeah definitely could be something."

"Beach Sammy, said we'd get there," Dean enthuses. "I'm gonna shower while you do the geek boy thing an' check it out."

"Jerk, do your own homework!” Sam groans taking over the laptop, but only because it's expected.

"Nah-ah Bitch, you got the brains I got the looks." Dean chortles happily, and downs his coffee with the parting shot.

Sam sighs and runs his hands through mostly dry hair, looking over the info in front of him, before doing a google search on Montauk.  
As if a google search took more brains than sifting through drowning statistics, Sam shakes of his head with another huff.

…ooo0ooo…

 

Part way down the article list things get ... weird....

News reports on the drownings and information about surfing and the state parks give way to talk of monsters and conspiracy theories.  
An animal testing laboratory, on Plum island that’s rumoured to play host to horrific genetic experiments. An abandoned military facility called Camp Hero, that people fervently believed was part of a top secret government conspiracy meddling with portals to other dimensions. Not to mention the 'monster of Montauk' entry on Wikipedia, the whole thing...... was all .... just, too much!

"You have to be kidding me!" If he didn't know better he'd have said Dean was pranking him.

Pinching the bridge of his nose Sam surveyed the whole package of crazy, tied up with a bow of five drownings, a disembowelment and some unseasonal storms.

Suddenly, cooking breakfast seemed like a wonderful idea, because research into this one… was something he REALLY wanted to share with his big brother.

Dean ambled in with his usual ineffable timing, just as food was hitting the plate, he looked at the eggs dubiously.  
“Why is there green and red in the eggs Sammy?” he growled mistrustfully, helping himself to a side order or bacon and more coffee.  
“Scallion and tomato Dean, you know vegetables won’t actually kill you.”  
“Tomato’s a fruit Sam” Dean muttered shoving an overlarge forkful in his mouth, apparently, it was acceptable despite vegetable and fruit contamination. His eyes took in the picture on the laptop “Sammy what’s with the dating site?”  
“That, Dean” Sam muttered sourly, “is the ‘Monster of Montauk’” he glanced at the pink decaying carcass, slumped on the sand, the photo wasn’t conducive to food consumption, not that that phased Dean.  
“Awesome,” Dean drawled still eating and examining the photo. “Looks pretty dead though…Dude! this was 8 years ago,” Dean looked both unimpressed and puzzled.  
“Look at the rest” Sam said appraising his brother’s hair while his brother studied the screen.  
It was definitely lighter.  
He hid a smile and thought that peroxide in the shampoo was a gift that just kept giving.  
The most amusing part was that Dean hadn’t even realized yet. For a second, a twinge of guilt bothered Sam as he watched his brother take in the rest of the crazy.  
“Well crap Sam!” Dean ran his hands through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck, “what the heck are we lookin’ at?” Then, he shrugged and grinned “Maybe I oughta change the names on the FBI ID’s to Scully and Mulder, you so know you’re Scully right!? Let’s get this freak show on the road, we’re going to the Beach Sammy!”  
And that’s how it was with Dean, the crazy was just an amusing distraction, the muddy waters were just something he’d muddle through. With a huff, Sam went off to pack.

“Wheels up in an hour Sammy” Dean grinned.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Dean flashed a look at his brother across the impala as Sam gave yet another huff and raked his fingers through his hair. Sam’s eyes were fixed on his cell and his forehead furrowed like he was in pain.  
This had been going on for an hour now and Dean had had enough.  
It was 1,700 miles from Lebanon Kansas to Salisbury beach, Montauk, Massachusetts.  
No matter how you cut it that was going to be 25 odd hours trapped in a car with a Sasquatch steam engine hybrid.  
Sammy was angsting, and it was palatable in the confined interior. Zeppelin couldn't drown it out and Dean was pretty sure at some point soon 'talk' would happen. Dean ran his hands back and forth over his Baby's steering wheel, wanting to delay the inevitable and yet, just wanting it over too.

He'd been feeling pretty darned happy about the forth coming road trip and beach excursion. Even the tent and camping supplies that Sam had thrown into the back of the impala didn't phase him too much. He loathed camping, but John Winchester had taught his boys to always be prepared.

Sam had been packing the cooler and their gear duffles into the car and Dean had been checking Baby's oil and water, when a thought hit him.

"Mom!...Ow! son of a ..." he’d rubbed at his head where he'd bashed it on the hood. Sam met his eyes.

Mom had told them she was going to come home 'soon,’ when they'd met up unexpectedly at the Hunter Asa Foxs wake. She'd also said she needed 'a bit more time.' What ever the hell that meant. Apparently more than a couple of weeks, the waiting was driving Dean nuts...

He had to admit, their family breakfast together after salting and burning Asa had been a tentative step in the right direction. Since they'd parted ways they were doing better, most days she touched base via text (for some reason none of them ever called, just texts, like a bunch of 13 year old girls.)  
But every time Dean remembered the whole thing with Billie, he wasn't so sure anything was better -or ever would be.- He felt like he was drowning, guilt that what he wanted so desperately, since he was four fricking years old had ended up hurting (in some deep fundamentally fucked up way) one of the few people who had actually loved him. Somehow, he, Dean Winchester had turned Amaras 'gift' into another thing that imploded.  
He wondered whether maybe he just wasn't good enough, or worth enough, broken and used up as he was now, to get her to want to come back to them.  
(The look in Mary Wichester’s eyes...)  
And that meant he hadn't just stuffed it up for him, but for Sammy to. Sam deserved better....

(....That look in Mary Winchesters eyes....)

Dean had grabbed at the whole mess of thoughts and feelings, that he'd dragged up and shoved them down roughly into a mental box labelled "Leave it the fuck alone" and shoved the lid on. Nah-uh not going there!  
Instead he dealt with the surface issues. They had a Mom now, and vaguely at the back of his head Dean knew you treated Moms different than Dads, different than brothers too, he supposed. If you weren't a complete screw-up you...You were supposed to tell them you were going places, weren't you? And when 'home' was a high security warded bunker, full of arcane magic, you couldn't just leave a key under the doormat, a note on the door. He really hadn’t wanted Mom turning up to the bunker finding no one and nothing, unable to get in, what if she had no money and nowhere else to go..... What if she’d called Billie...?!

Sam had saved him from falling any further down the rabbit hole.

"I gave Mom a key at breakfast, Dean. I also texted her about the case and we'll checkin. It's fine."

A feeling of deep overwhelming gratitude swept through him, thank God for Sam!  
He, Dean, was such an emotionally retarded screw-up, he just never seemed to be up to speed. But there was Sam, sorting things, before he Dean, even realised there was a problem. Sam was there, building the bridges and doing the right thing. Dean had smiled fondly, secure in the knowledge Sam couldn’t see his mushy moment, and wondered what he would do without his geeky, giant, straggle haired kid brother round.

….ooo0ooo….

 

The rumble of the impalas engine, the road in front of him and his kid brother riding shotgun, a case, and the the possibility of some beach R&R on the horizon.  
Life should be pretty near perfect.

But it wasn't, because Sam was huffing like a steam train and trying to rip his hair out in the passenger seat; all the while glaring at his cell like it had personally offended him.  
Sam was driving Dean freakin' nuts, ruining his precase zen.  
If Sam could build the bridges between him and Mom then maybe he owed it to Sam to man up and do the whole 'talk' thing.

"Seriously Dude! What climbed up your ass and died?!"  
Sam jumped and looked up from his phone at his brothers outburst. He blew a huff of air through his bangs and raked them back out of his eyes then tossed his phone on the dashboard in disgust.  
"There's just, I don't know, too much?!" he said at last.

"What'd ya mean?" Dean answered an odd careful expression on his face.

"This case..." Sam trailed off trying to think how to explain it to his brother.  
"I can't even begin to pin down what we are looking at here, we have the drowning victims, the dismemberment, and your weather signs," another huffy sigh crawled out of his chest. His head swam with all the research he'd read, trying to figure it all out. It was like having 4 different 1000 piece jigsaws mixed in one box.  
"…But then we have this whole sea of crap surrounding it... these conspiracy theories, Plum island, Camp Hero..." he pulled up short because Dean gave a bark of laughter.

"So, you've been sitting there huffing like a steam train and practically pulling your hair out, over the case?" Dean clarified.

"Well yeah Dean, its..."

"Sam," his brother cut him off, "how about we get there, go see the coroner, look at the bodies like we always do. Stop gettin' bogged down in the bigger picture."

"But Dean.."

"Sammy, stop being an extra credit, teachers pet, swatty little bitch for a second. Sometimes the conspiracy theory nut jobs are actually, get this - nut jobs. Maybe the lifeguards in good Ol' Montauk are just crap at their jobs an' all we'll have to do is sit on the beach, look at hot chicks in bikinis and drink some beer, hell we could even live a little an' build a sandcastle!"

Sam studied his brothers face and swallowed thickly, how did he even begin to explain the overwhelming feeling of drowning and spinning out of control he was feeling ever since Dean had vanished to play suicide bomber.  
Toni Bevell had almost been a relief with her knives and torturing flunky. Except of course she hadn't been, and he still woke up gasping sweating and feeling violated.

"Somehow I can't see us catching that break, Dean," he said quietly.

The next thing Sam knew Dean had pulled the impala over onto the road shoulder and turned to look at him. Green eyes flicked back and forth over his face searching for something.

"Sammy," he began quietly, almost gently.

"It's Sam," he found himself muttering defensively.

Dean favoured him with a soft smile, "Sammy, call me doctor Phil and you know I hate it. But maybe, just maybe it's time you climbed out of your own ass and talked about some of the crap festering under all that girly hair."

"D e a n ....."

"Yeah Sammy, I know, pot, kettle, the whole nine yards..."

"It's just... is this ever going to stop...? Every time I think it can't get harder, more messed up... Every time I lose you… or we save the fricking world. Or something good happens, like getting Mom back... But the other shoe drops and it’s just... man! She just looked so.... and I can’t help wondering- … " Sam found himself trailing off, panting, eyes brimming with pain and fury.

His brother chuckled humourlessly. "Yeah sometimes Billies offer of the big empty… maybe it doesn't sound so bad hu?"

"Y-eah"

"You know in Die hard 4, the techno fire sale one..."

Sam frowned at his brothers change of track.

"John McClane he has this whole speech in there about being 'that guy,’ the one that gets stuck fixing the crap. Let's just say… you an’ me Sammy. I identify... No one asked us, but somehow, we got designated 'that guy' and I know it sucks. Big time! But who else are we gonna to trust?"

Without another word Dean put the impala back in drive, shot his brother a tired grin and gave Sam’s shoulder a squeeze.

Despite how insane it was, Sam found himself smiling back.  
They hadn't really said anything, but suddenly the tension in Sam’s chest was gone.  
For a second they locked eyes

"Yippee Kaiya mother fucker!"

They spoke the words in unison as the wheels spun and the impala ate the miles on the way to Montauk, home of the Montauk monster, 5 drowning victims (one of which was in pieces) and a whole bucket load of conspiracy theories.


	4. Chapter 4

 

**Chapter 4**

They'd been driving ten hours with only a few breaks to fuel man and car, when Dean finally decided it was time to call it quits for the day.  
It is an old pattern and comfortable as a favoured pair of jeans to them both, after all these years of clocking mileage and staying in one cheap worn down motel after another. One checks them in, one unloads the car. One will find food while the other showers. The old patterns don't change, no matter the destination or the town. There is a form of comfort in it.

…ooo0ooo...

Dean walks out of the bathroom scrubbing at his wet hair with a thin towel, and finds Sam enthroned at the laptop.

"I swear Sammy that better be porn," Dean gripes. "If that’s another gallery of washed up rotting things, some crackpot's claiming is a genetically mutated monster, I'm gonna revoke your internet privileges. Your weird ass fascination with serial killers was bad enough, but come on man, I wanna eat in peace."

"I'm not looking at either," Sam eyes his brother covertly, taking in the definite change in hair colour; Dean has somehow STILL failed to notice.  
He turns back to the laptop wondering how far he really should let things continue. A moment of guilt flares. 

Even when they were on the nations most wanted list, thanks to the Leviathan shape shifters using their faces for a murder spree, the option of hair dye just hadn't entered discussion.  
He wouldn't call his brother vain - because surely a vain guy would have frigging noticed by now!- but Dean will be thoroughly pissed when he finally does realise... and pay back is gonna to be a bitch.

"Was looking into local papers and police reports mainly.”

"Anything good?"

"Don't know if you'd call it good… back in September a guy called Krishna L Parihar was charged with impersonating a New York police officer, he was arrested and charged for forcing people off the road (apparently pretending to be a cop)... charges included criminal possession of a weapon - and an illegal ammunition loading device." His forehead crinkles like that of an unhappy Labrador.

"So, what're ya thinking? Hunter?"

Sam shrugged in response and zoomed in on the photo of a stranger.

"No one we know." Dean muttered around a mouthful of burger. "Course that doesn't mean he's not a Hunter - just that we've never run across him. Either way it could be a massive pain in the ass, better make sure our ID’s are your best work tech boy."

"Yeah, Dean. Done an’ updated," Sam gestures to the box beside him, "there are so many Hunters out there we know nothing about..." he muses eyeing the photo again.

"Dad always said getting involved with other Hunters was too risky..."

"Yeah, I know, too many hot heads or psycos, barely more human than the things they hunt. I remember the talk." Sam pinches at the bridge of his nose and wrinkles his brow again. "She.." that he meant Toni Bevell was apparent from his tone, "just couldn't believe we were so disorganised... she spent all that time torturing me, trying to get things like organisational structure, who reports to who and dead drops out of me, she mind screwed me for craps sake... and for what? Even if I'd caved, what coulda I given her? A few hunter’s names?! The closest thing we had to organisation was Bobby ... and he's dead.” There was a beat of deep aching silence between them after mentioning Bobby.  
Sam stumbled on with his thoughts. "She...she said they have all of Britain warded, that they know when anything sets foot there and kill it before it even gets a chance to drop a body ..." Sam stares at his brother with eyes like open wounds.

"Yeah, that's what the bitch of letters said Sammy, don't make it true though." Dean frowns and rubbes the back of his neck, "’sides the whole shoot first stich ...not every 'monster' is a monster… Most are, sure... But some are tryin’ to walk the line, like Garth and his family... Little miss Slitherine reject, m-u-c-h more of a monster in my book."

Sam was more than mildly surprised with one thing. "Dean did you just use an actual Harry Potter reference?"

Dean grunts and looks mildly embarrassed, stares across the room like the faded wallpaper is fascinating. "Yeah, got sick of all you geeks and your obscure geek speak.”

"And...?" Sam raises his eyebrow questioningly.

"And what, it's set in a boarding school for wizards Sammy, not even a Catholic girls gone wild kinda boarding school," Dean drawled with a leer. "An actual boarding school with homework an’ team sports, and old dried up teachers an’ shit. Least high schools in the real world you get the occasional hot substitute teacher." Sam can see memories of a catalogue of substitute teachers who had fallen prey to Deans -not always unwelcome- attentions over the years.

"So how many of them have you watched?"  


"Two" Dean grunted "Six more of the sodding things to go."

"You know Dean, there's probably a plot outline on the Wiki, it’s not a big deal, you always say you keep me around for the research, Jerk."

"Nah man, it's all good, Charlie always ragged me to watch ‘em ya know..." for a second their green and hazel gazes touch, then both flinch away.  
Don't talk about Charlie, it’s an unwritten rule.

Dean rubs the back of his neck and looked almost apologetic.  
"Bitch! You need a shower, how bout I go find somethin' cold an' some snacks, you can inoculate me with another booster shot of geek.” Dean’s offer surprises Sam, "...anything to keep you away from your monster porn."

Sam tosses an empty soda cup at the back of Deans head as he heads for the bathroom. "Jerk!"

"Sammy always be proud of your hobbies, they make you what you are." A gravelly chuckle follows Sam to the bathroom.

…ooo0ooo…

The next morning a blood curdling shriek ripped the air, the words that followed were completely unprintable. Thirty seconds later a fully dressed and thoroughly pissed Dean stormed through the bathroom door.  
The door crashed back against the wall, making the whole room shake and dust shower into the air from the tops of the overhead lights.  
Apoplectic fury seemed to shimmer in the air as a panting Dean GLARED at his brother, lost for words.  
Sam braced himself for Devine retribution, and a possible facial fracture, hands raised in submission.

 

"What the fuck Sam!" Dean’s voice was a hiss of immanent death.

Sam swallowed. "I-it was a joke, Dean …I'm...."

The one reaction Sam never expected was for Dean to spin on his heel and stalk out. Seconds later the impala’s engine grumbled to life and gravel flew as the impala accelerated out of the parking lot.

Sam stood in the centre of the motel room, alone. Looking around in the gaping silence. His shoulders slumped as he took a few deep breaths, unsure what to do. His eyes fell on Deans phone beside his bed with a groan.

"Great, just great..."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

 

  
Two hours later Sam sat on the bed furthest from the door beside a pile of repacked gear wondering exactly what to do next, the familiar feeling of anxiety clenching his chest.  
Yes, maybe he'd let things go a step to far, there was a part of him that regretted that and longed to set it right. But there was also an unbowed part of him that took a sly satisfaction in one upping his smart-ass brother.  
He knew that same part of him was responsible for the fractious relationship he had shared with his father, his tendency to pick a battle and be almost pathologically incapable of backing down once the line was drawn.  
As a weedy kid it has gotten him bullied and into fights, as a teen that streak of stubbornness had caused him to be on the outside at every new school and a combatant with his father.  
It wasn't that he picked fights. No, unlike big brother Dean, who almost gloried in them. It was more that he had a trajectory, one that was so focused that it didn't take into account the chaos that ruled the rest of the world. That same focus had gotten him a full ride into Stanford and out of hunting, he'd left his brother to achieve it… and that had hurt. But he'd had to! Had to try being his own person, try being a normal human being, not Dad’s third soldier in the endless war against evil, or Dean’s brother.  
In the end there was no escape.  
Besides, one of the universal constants in Sam’s life was that Dean always came and got him. No matter what he'd done. And Sam had done some really messed up stuff over the years.  
Bleaching his brothers' hair blonde was a blip on the radar compared to starting the apocalypse or releasing the darkness... So Sam waited for his brother to come and get him, there'd be payback, of that Sam was sure. But Dean always came back.  
The rumble of the impalas' engine brought Sam out of his thoughts, Sam would rather shatter the world than back down; Dean though, he would tie the world in knots. He didn't back down, he just found another way.  
Despite knowing the way things were relief still flooded Sam at the sound of his brothers measured pace and tuneless whistle.  
Dean walked in looking just as blonde, but languid and smug as a cat.

"Sammy, it would appear it's true what they say, blondes really do have more fun," he announced by way of greeting. "And I need another shower," he grinned and tossed Sam a bag. "Got ya some rabbit food.”  
Rummaging through his bag, Dean grabbed new clothes and his phone then disappeared into the bathroom shutting the bathroom door behind him.  
For a long second Sam just stared at the closed bathroom door, there were so many questions bouncing round his head. But he'd be darned if he was going to ask details about blondes having more fun, before 10am, in a town they'd been in for less than 24 hours. He had a horrible feeling that part of Dean’s revenge for the peroxide in the shampoo would be a detailed account once they were trapped in the impala and on the road. With no escape, for hours. Dean lived over sharing.  
Sam shook his head in a finely blended mixture of admiration/disgust and set about packing the car.

Just before the room’s door clicked shut Sam thought he heard Deans phone ring from the bathroom.  
Before he even reached the car, his own phone rang. Juggling the bags in one arm he pulled out his phone.  
"Sam, Dean didn't answer his phone, is everything ok?" Castiel's gravelly voice began with no preamble.

"Hi Cas, think he's in the shower, yeah we're ok. Uh, you?"

"I am finding working with Crowley to be a challenge," Cas informed him solemnly.

Sam leaned back against the impalas hood and smiled. "Yeah well, he's a demon Cas, it sorta come with the territory."  
"This is true Sam.. I …" Sam could almost hear the gears in Castiel’s head grinding. "I had hoped to ask Dean’s advice on how best to achieve success in this collaboration with Crowley."

"Dean would probably suggest holding an angel blade to his throat."

"I have considered that option, many times...but I do not think it would achieve the desired cooperation."  
Sam chuckled. "Yeah man I know, would probably be better to appeal to the mutual self-interest of the situation, he doesn't want Lucifer roaming round any more than we do Cas.' Just don't let him yank your chain too much, okay?"  
"I know… Thank you Sam." There was a click as Cas hung up.  
Dean was out of the shower and dressed by the time Sam met him half way back from returning the room key.  
"Just got a call from Cas', he wanted advice on Crowley wrangling, I'm just guessing, but I think the honeymoons over."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, just got a call from his Royal Darkness whining 'bout 'our bloody angel,’" Dean’s Crowley impression was scarily accurate, "I think hangin' with Cas' is cramping his style. Who'd have thunk it?"  
“You may have trouble playing nicely with others, but I seem to make out just fine." Dean waggled his eyebrows and leered, then launched into the tale of his morning exploits. Sam had been correct about the oversharing as punishment, though Dean liked to think of it as education.

…ooo0ooo…

"I'll get you some hair dye next time we stop," Sam promised his brother after noticing him check his hair in the rear-view mirror again.  
Sam could admit he found his brother’s newly blonde hair disconcerting too, every time he his mind drifted, he'd jump at a glimpse of a stranger sitting beside him  
in the driver’s seat.  
"Nah Sammy it's all good" Dean replied running his hand through his spiked blonde hair.

"But …. you said only girls dye their hair...”

"Apparently girls dye other people's hair too, Samantha," Dean rumbled with a raised eyebrow.

Sam gave him a weak shove and smiled at his lap,"Jerk!"

"Bitch,” Dean returned easily “you oughta know by now, Dean Winchester is awesome an’ he can rock any look- draw the ladies! Nancy said the blonde made my eyes greener..." he stated smugly.

"Well I guess the blonde bimbo look is kind of your thing" Sam shrugged and turned back to his research after getting in the last word.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**_“Look at me,_**  
**I'm on my way to the promised land**  
  
**I'm on the HIGHWAY TO HELL**  
**Highway to hell..."**

Sam looked across the car at his brother as he belted out the lyrics to AC/DC’s 'Highway to Hell,’and winced, Dean was never going to be among the country's top singers, but Sam suspected that his brother was singing extra painfully, on purpose. If he complained, operation 'Make Sammy regret the shampoo incident" would only step up a notch; from experience Sam knew Dean could make noises resembling a cat going through a wood-chipper if he REALLY wanted to.

Sam gritted his teeth feeling the muscles along his jawline jump, he rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, tried to stifle a sigh.

Dean glanced over at his brother with a smirk, then did a quick double-take, noticing the signs of an approaching headache written all over his brother’s clenched face.

Snapping off the music he turned. "So what's the plan?"

Sam consulted his notes.  
"First stop, Suffolk county medical examiner’s office. We have an appointment with... uh… Stephanie Horowitz, she's a deputy medical examiner. She did the last two autopsies. They're holding the latest vic’ for us, before they release him back to his family."

"Stephanie? Lady medical examiners are a rare breed, man, I bet she's like 80 with a bun and sensible shoes."

Sam favoured his brother with a bitchfaced look. "Does it matter Dean?"

Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. "Sam, you do know we're not real Feds don't you? The PC crap, it doesn't start til we enter the building."

"Doesn't start even then," his brother grumbled.

Dean’s phone chimed with a text. Sam grabbed it up before his brother could, "Dude hands on the wheel! I'll check it, okay!?”  
Sam gazed down at the phone in his hand and felt a wave of irritation, seeing the photo that had replaced the man of letters symbol on Dean’s home screen.

"Seriously?!” He fumed.

"You were just so kw-ute all asleep with your piggy tails. Couldn’t ask for a cuter whittle sister. Seeing your face when I look at my phone, makes me so happy Sammy." Dean gushed mockingly and leaned over to snatch the phone away.

"I'm so deleting it! Jerk,” Sam fumed holding the phone out of his brother’s reach, “can't stop me."

"Whiney bitch, what's the text?"

"Mom, just checking in. Huh... She made $300 hustling pool last night, d' ya think she oughta be doing that?" Sam frowned earnestly in worry.

"Go Mom, Dude, you wanna tell her not to? I'm not gonna! Besides she’s a chick Sam, Dudes don’t get a-s pissed when a chick hussles them.”

They drove in silence for a while, each contemplating the complexity of the world they now inhabited. Mary Winchester was dead for 33 years and had only been 30 when she died, she was now technically, younger than either of them.

….

"So food, then lady coroner?" As always, Dean was the first to reject contemplation.

"Probably a good idea to clean and suit up first." Sam waved a hand between them, highlighting their crumpled appearances, the previous night had been spent in the car.

"Yeah, shaving wouldn't hurt you any Sasquatch.... Really want me some pie first though."  
Sam rolled his eyes at hearing his brothers priorities were intact.

"You know Dean, next birthday you're going to be th..."

"Sam!"

"…And as you age you’re gonna discover that..."

"Sam!"

"I'm just saying that...."

"Samuel, I will hurt you!"

Sam turned his face toward his side window smirking, but didn't pursue the conversation further.  
The things his brother lived for, they could all be said to start with F...  
Food, family, fighting... and the other f-word. Dean was a simple creature. At times, Sam envied him that.

"I just wish I knew what we were looking at, that's all."

"Sammy, one step at a time. Clean up, food - and pie. Then, old lady coroners and corpses. And t-h-e-n, you can geek it up with the autopsy reports and we can play guess the fugly."

…ooo0ooo…

 

The amazing restorative powers of a shower, clean clothes, food and a waitress to flirt with, not to mention a second order of pie to go. Now the sun is shining in the piercingly blue sky, warm on his skin as they walk back to Baby in the lot, all is right with the world.  
Well, maybe it's not, Dean concedes to himself; but in this moment, as Sam tosses his head back and laughs heartily at his joke. That mile wide grin, all white teeth and dimples. The way Sam cuffs his shoulder in affection, it broadcasts that it’s them together against everything.  
This moment between thought and breaths....Well... it sort of is.

…ooo0ooo…

The Suffolk county medical examiner’s office is a large contoured block of concrete with a bank of glass along the front of its façade. A building that has stood the test of time and will do so for another hundred years, it looks no different than any other serviceable government building.  
Sam and Dean Winchester have seen a lot of hospitals, morgues and coroners over the years.

The woman who greets them as Stephanie Horowitz is not 80, she looks more like 26 with straight shoulder length brown hair and the harried expression on her face, a public servant with too much work to do and not enough time to do it in. Sam watches his brother straighten slightly in surprise and adjust his charm to full strength. The smile he baths Stephanie in is blinding, one that Sam has watched his brother use to melt women, and more than a few men, with for his entire life.

The lady in question simply swept him with an assessing look and smiled back coolly.

For an instant, a look of complete shock flares in Dean’s green eyes, as she shrugged off his most powerful weapon, like it was a mere annoyance. He covers his surprise well, and Sam doubts most people would notice the switch from aborted charm to business.

"Thank you for taking time out to help us with our enquiries, Miss?"there was a pause where Deans voice held the perfect note of speculation. "…Horowitz, I know you must be very busy." Usually by this point, a woman bathed in Dean’s regard would be turning towards him like a flower to the sun, whatever her marital status. Usually she would be confirming her single status looking eager and flustered. Instead she turns towards Sam, as if Dean doesn’t even matter.

"Agents?" She enquires making it a question.

"Cassidy and this is my partner Agent Bonaduce" Dean grabbed for the conversational reins again flashing his badge, Sam followed suit.

"I'm told you are interested in the drowning cases from Montauk," she spoke over her shoulder as she led them back towards the morgue, heels clicking.

"Yes" Sam looked through the copies of autopsy reports they'd obtained while they waited.

"You did the last two autopsies yourself?" Deans voice was all business now, but there was an undercurrent to it.

"Agents, why are the FBI interested in these cases?" Again, she addressed this question to Sam not Dean.

A frown pinched Deans forehead and he took a breath to say something, Sam could tell would not be polite.

"We are correct that statistically speaking this many drownings are not typical for the area?" Sam phrased it as a question lawyer style, "apart from that we are not at liberty to discuss our investigation, I’m afraid Miss Horowitz. Are there any similarities between the cases, or things that strike you as, odd? That information would be of assistance."  
Sam watched his brother reel in his irritation one more feeling relief.

"And you want to examine Mr Sessa's body?"

"Yes." Dean rumbled trying yet another engaging smile. "It won't take us long and then we'll be out of your hair." His eyes held a sparkle.

"Can you please sign the log" not drawn, she gestured to the book and nodded to a rack of gloves above the sink.

"If you tell me what you’re looking for maybe it would help, otherwise I imagine you will find the report to have all my findings," she turned away to pull open the long metal draw. Pulling it out fully, she unzipped the body bag and she stood back.

"Thank you, Miss Horowitz, we can take it from here, would it be ok if we had a moment of your time afterwards. I know you must be busy," as they both gloved up, Sam tossed her a commiserating grin, and was surprised to receive a genuine smile in return.

"My office is the third door on the left back towards reception.” She informed him politely turned and left.

Dean let out an irritated huff as he began to examine the corpse white slightly bloated corpse. “Well she was nice," he grumbled "So what've we got?"

"All the organs were still intact." Sam announced studying the autopsy report.

"No Werewolves or Lamia then." His brother supplied.

"No exsanguination."

"No Vampires, Chupacabra or any of those fuglies."

Dean ran the EMF meter over the corpse "Nada," he grunted with a sour look.  
"Check the ears and nose..."

"Ergtch on it..." finding a swab he probed the dead man’s ears and nose. "Nope clean."

"Bite marks or puncture wounds?"

"Hard to tell, I think he was fish food for a while, but nothing jumps out."

Sam grunted "No defensive wounds?"

Dean studied the hands wrists and arms critically, "there's a couplea cuts on the back of the hands an' one on each palm, not exactly life threatening though, no way they’re defensive."

"Yeah there's photos in both the last two reports of the Vic's hands, nothing’s flagged as unusual."

"No sign of restraints, strangulation, head injury..." Dean looked frustrated, "I think there's a hickey on his neck, so at least he's had more fun than you lately, Sammy." His brother shot him a sour look.

Sam wasn’t drawn, “Hmmm, salt water in the lungs and a plasma specific gravity that's consistent with drowning, so he was alive when he went under the water. That makes it actual drowning, not just a body dump. Diatoms are consistent with the coastal Montauk waters"

"Dia... what's?"

"Diatoms, microscopic, uh" Sam stopped just short of saying organisms "bugs, Dean," knowing his brother would purposefully mishear the word.

"So, the micro-organisms.." Dean pronounced the word correctly, but gave it emphasis like he’d said something else, "matching means they drowned in the sea, yeah?"

"Yeah. Toxicology shows no alcohol or drugs… for any of them. There's still some extra blood work outstanding for the last two cases."

"Mouth looks quite shredded an' uhh… pink, tongues really swollen..."

"Swollen or shredded, soft tissues in the face are to be expected, he was in the water a while, before he washed up. That causes the swelling, the water drags them about a lot which… shreds the soft tissues. Add in sea life…. "

"Yeah, Yeah…” Dean pulled a face, “can the descriptive prose bro’ I get the picture, hold on a sec', crap this is gross" opening the corpses mouth gingerly, Dean peered inside. "Well that's weird, anything about the tongue there? there are these, like welts on his tongue.”

Sam peered over his brothers’ shoulder riffling through the reports. "They found cnidocytes in the welts."

"Sin..o'whats? Come on man, English...."

"Googling it dude… huh..." Sam raised an eyebrow, "cnidocytes are jellyfish stingers.”

"So, he French kissed a jellyfish?"

"He might have swallowed it while drowning," Sam huffed and looked irritated.

"Well maybe it's a bust Sammy, doesn't look like our kind of thing. We'll poke around in Montauk, but maybe it's a beach trip after all."

"Yeah maybe..." Sam didn't look convinced.

"How 'bout you go say goodbye to your girlfriend, give her our details, in case something comes up, I'll meet you at the car."

Sam chuckled in amusement. "She really didn't seem to warm to you, at all, did she?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi.... So I sorted my art posting issues.  
> Turns out I just had to use the PC rather than my phone. (Should have tried it wayyy sooner but the kids n hubby hog the PC.)  
> I’d really like to know if you like or are enjoying this fic.  
> Thank you to palomacal, deandeandean and the two guests that gave me kudos, I do appreciate it. I do so love feedback from readers, it is what makes writing stuff worth the effort.  
> Sadly too many writers give up because they don’t get it, (it is so sad and frustrating to start reading a really good story with potential and realize that it’s been languish dead in the water unfinished because the author lost hope (they can’t have all died, right?)...  
> Anyway...
> 
> Thanks for your patience  
> MC2


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

  
Sam tapped on the open door frame of Stephanie Horowitz’s office and ducked through.

"Uh... Hi.” He began.  
She looked up from her paperwork, glancing behind Sam, presumably looking for Dean.  
When she didn't see him, Sam was surprised to see her physically relax.

Sam cleared his throat, and rubbed his lips to hide his amusement. "Agent Cassidy had a few things to do, so uh - it's just me."

"Oh, so you have some questions?" She pushed the paperwork in front of her away with a look of relief.

"There are a few things, mostly I'm looking for your impressions on the cases." He shot her a dimpled smile. "Anything you feel is odd. Odd coincidences, patterns, or things that just don't feel right."

"Well..." the young coroner looked uncertain, looked down at her hands. "We usually get one drowning a year, at very most from Montauk...." "And usually that's an out of towner. Montauk has been getting a reputation as a party destination in the summer, so most of those deaths have a component of alcohol or drug fuelled, um, stupidity shall we say…”

Sam smiled, nodded in agreement and understanding "But...?" he prompted.

"But, it's a bit early in the season; we've had, what 4? this month… and all the men that have drowned are locals .... none of them had drugs or alcohol on board." She shrugged and met Sam’s eyes.

"Yes, Dean, uh Agent Cassidy pretty much said the same thing." Sam murmured. Immediately Stephanie's face closed up.  
Damn! Thought Sam.

"My job is to find the cause of death Agent."

"Yes, Miss Horowitz, and no one would debate the finding, of drowning is pretty open and shut. Your reports are detailed and concise... We see a lot of reports, and yours are...gold star standard." Sam favoured her with what Dean called puppy dog eyes. "Your expertise is why I need your help Stephanie, these men had people that cared about them, who mourn them. Maybe it's all coincidence… but if it isn't, could you live with yourself if you held back information that might help? Just because you were afraid of looking silly. You have the power to make a difference, possibly save a family some grief." He paused and she looked up into his eyes.  
In that moment, Sam knew he had her.

"After all, what you tell me can, and will remain between us."

Stephanie Horowitz took a deep breath. "There are some things that don't feel right," she admitted. "They could be nothing, but all of the cases have similarities."

"Such as?"

"Well apart from age and general build... the four men, all had similar, small cuts on the backs of their hands and palms."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "The first reports don't mention them?"

Stephanie rubbed her palms together, "Yes I know, but…. I was there during the first two autopsies. Michael Caplin our Cheif Medical Examiner did those. They weren't really pertinent to the cause of death..." she added defensively.  
Sam nodded as if agreeing, setting her at ease.

"…And they all had cnidocytes in their mouths" she rushed on. "Only in their mouths, not on their arms or faces or other exposed skin.  
There are jellyfish in Sulffolk county waters, but the cnidocytes weren't identified as being from either the Lions mane or Moon jellyfish.... Which doesn't mean anything, really, all the bodies were in the water for a significant amount of time. Degradation would occur. Besides... We just don't have the kind of jellyfish round here that would cause someone to react to so badly it would cause them to drown. A few stings like that, even in the mouth would hurt, sure, but you'd just get out of the water." She shook her head.

"I noticed you were still awaiting lab results, can you tell me about that?"

Stephanie flushed "Uhm well, all the usual lab results showed absolutely nothing." She faltered "So I did a tick all the boxes type request on the samples we had from Mr Sessa and Mr Cullen. To say that's frowned upon is putting it mildly," she admitted. "But we have... quite a few Examiners staff away, including Mr Caplin, and I ..." she faded out looking guilty.

"Stephanie, from my experience ticking all the boxes can be a very good thing. I would be, very, uh ...grateful, if you could send me a copy of those results, or if anything else comes to mind," he assured her handing her a card with their contact details.

Her smile held relief as they shook hands and said goodbye.

…ooo0ooo…

When Sam finally exited the Suffolk county medical examiner’s office Dean was leaning against the impala, head tilted back, eyes closed, soaking up the sun, enjoying the baking heat radiating off Baby's gleaming paintwork and chrome.  
Green eyes opened at the sound of his brother’s footsteps nearing. Sam had gotten something out of the lady coroner, he could tell by the way he walked, but the frown on his face said Sammy was still trying to work out what it meant.

Dean shot his brother a sunny smile, "Montauk?" He queried.

"Yeah." Sam slid into the impala without another word.

It was an hour and a half drive to Montauk and neither spoke. Sam didn't rifle through the fistful of autopsy reports, he didn't do web searches or consult scanned copies of the men of letters files. He sat, brow creased and lips quirking. There were thoughts going on behind his brother’s floppy hair and hazel eyes.  
Dean waited for Sam to speak, sitting calmly on the tipping point between acceptance and frustration.

Finally half an hour later, Sam cleared his throat and sought his brothers eyes. "Uh…I think…," he began, "there is some kind of case here, but I don't know what we’re looking at."

And so, he told his big brother everything the lady coroner had said.

Dean drove and digested for a while. "Ever wonder why we don't get more beach cases?" He asked finally.

Sam shrugged.

"When we first started this gig after Stanford… and umm …Jess." Dean checked his brothers face, there was a small twisted smile, but not a complete shut down, so he continued. "Things weren't good with you, sunshine and sand… I guess there were too many memories…."

"Jess was a Cali' girl, sun in her hair.. she just loved the beach." Sam’s voice was wistful.

"Yeah I know man,  followed you guys once..."

Sam looked up at that, and Dean shrugged apologetically. "You were just goofing round, being normal college kids at the beach." he smiled sadly. "So after...I got that the beach wasn't gonna to be good for you. So, I sort of decided, to not to, unless I couldn’t help it." Sam raised an eyebrow at that.

"There are other hunters Sam. But after a while I noticed that seaside cases were just naturally thin on the ground. I even asked a few other hunters about it. Bobby reckoned it was the salt water, a lot of fuglies have an issue with salt. The whole 'moving water’ thing too, I guess. Whatever the reason though, beach vacations aren't usually their scene."

"So, you don't think this is a case then?!" Sam’s question was quiet.

"Nah I do, just expect the unexpected man. We work the case and hope that something washes up." he shot his brother a sly smirk. "Saving people an' hunting things Sammy! If it makes ya feel better, next time do the lawyer thing and put a rider in excluding giant mutant, French kissing jellyfish."

"If that's really a thing, I'm sending Chuck some hate mail" Sam snorted ruefully, raking fingers through his hair and starting the ritual of research.

  
…ooo0ooo…

The rest of the drive was more normal, Sam researching and imparting useless morsels of information about jellyfish to his brother. Dean listened with half an ear, doing the nod and smile routine he often used in the face of Sam’s shared research orgy.

Dean was considering more important things, than the fact that jellyfish don't have brains or the fact that some people eat the damn things.

  
Dean was considering payback for the peroxide in the shampoo incident, it was a topic that required careful considered thought and planning.

  
The punishment must fit the crime, John Winchester had taught him that.  
It had to be funny too, because Dean prided himself on his humor.   
It needed to take Sammy down a peg but not totally humiliate him, because his brother could be an angsty emo bitch at times. And it couldn't interfere with the case, another rule John Winchester had drummed into both his sons. The case comes first, the other stuff works around or gets shelved.  
He considered application of itching powder, he considered coffee laced with something to cause a bit of gastric distress, he considered adding Icy-hot or cayenne pepper to Sam’s shower stuff. But sadly, of late considering even low grade torture of his little brother left him cold, after seeing and hearing what the bitch of letters had done to his little brother.

Then he struck on the perfect idea, now all he had to do was plan, and execute. Then sit back and laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know I’m a tease but with a multi chapter fanfic it appears its allowable, it’s called delayed gratification.  
> Yes it is a case, I had the monster of the week picked L O N G ago (and it isn’t a giant french kissing jellyfish... probably.) Just like in the real world, be patient and wait for the lab results. Because before I became that multi splendored creature known as a ‘stay at home mum’ (read hostage negotiator, autism specialist, animal tamer, expert on particle physics, theology and cake decoration …..) I was a lab tech.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Always deal with the underlings if you can.  
It was one of the things John Winchester had taught his sons.  
An underling has less to prove, less turf to defend and often feels slightly flattered you are talking to them rather than their superior.  
If you are pretending to be a FBI agent, they will be more intimidated and less likely to look too hard at your badge.  
It's always a good idea to turn up at break times or close to the end of shift, because those higher up the chain will dump you on an underling if they can.

Sam and Dean knew all the tricks.

Sam stood back and watched his older brother work his charm on the lady behind the desk and couldn’t help smiling.  
She was one of those thirty something New York women, closer to something than thirty. Sam could tell she wanted to convince herself she was still young enough to compete with the world’s sweet young things, but had come to the sad conclusion that she could not. She was fighting the losing battle bravely though, trying to make up for the extra mileage with enthusiasm, a can-do attitude and all the cosmetics money could buy. It was almost unfair to unleash Dean on her, Sam thought contemplatively, a bit like shooting fish in a barrel.

When Dean tried, when he smiled at you like that, tilted his head just so as he listened… he made you feel like you were the most important person in the world… Sam huffed a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose.

The woman handed Dean a stack of files, which he shoved in Sam’s direction, said something that made her blush and laugh looking pleased and flustered.  
She waved over a mid-twenty’s kid wearing a t-shirt with a picture of a firefighter running with a comically dripping hose and a red and white legend that read "***Montauk Fire Dept***." Dean flashed his badge again and Sam followed suit, not really paying attention.  
For a while there was an animated discussion between the three, then much nodding and smiling.

Dean shook the kid’s hand, handed over one of his fake FBI cards with contact details on to the woman and kid, then with a jaunty smile and a wave, they were out the door.

Dean favoured his brother with a frown "You okay? You sort of, just phoned it in, in there."

"Yeah, just, tired I guess."

"Well, not much more we can do today, how 'bout I drop you back at the room for some shut eye, I can come back for that other report later."

"Other report?"

"The dismemberment, that one washed up on Plum island. Loraine’s getting them to send the report over for us."

"Loraine huh?"

"She said it would be ready for the end of her shift, I was hopin' ta get a heads up on the bars 'n' things from her.”

"From her, or with her, Dean?" He shot his brother a pained scowl.

"Judgey much man,” Dean snorted, “there's nothing wrong with a few drinks with a lovely lady."

"It never ends up just a couple of drinks, Dean."

"Consenting adults, Sammy, beautiful natural acts, even Chuck would approve."

"Yeah sure, so you’re over your obsession with Amara?" He couldn’t help asking sourly, could kick himself for the bitchy tone he’d taken.

Dean opened his mouth to speak, then Sam watched him shut it again, his brother gave him a thoughtful look.

"Dean, it's just, a small town and she's a cop that’s all..." He offered trying to sound concilitory, Dean was Dean after all.

"I'd never do anything to mess up a case Sam." Which was true and not true, Dean never purposefully did anything to mess up a case, but there were times when stuff he did came back to bite them. Problem was Sam knew he wasn’t totally blameless in the screwing up department, he had his own long list of stellarly bad decisions.

"Fine!" Sam flared making his brother snort in amusement.

"You're such a girl Samantha you even got the passive aggressive 'fine' down pat. You get so bitchy when you're tired and hungry.” Dean gave him an almost fond smile, “Let's get you fed and then I can tuck you in with some bedtime reading, before I sound out the locals." He suggested indulgently, bumped his shoulder against his brother’s as they made their way back to the car.

…ooo0ooo…

Sam filled a glass of water from the tap and placed it and a bottle of Advil where his brother could reach it when he woke.

Dean had stumbled in at some point during the night, yodelling something cheerfully and inconsiderately loud about Sloppy Tunas and beer, then he'd kicked off his boots and slumped into bed fully dressed.

He’d need intravenous coffee, a handful of pills and some kind of coronary inducing fast food, then he'd be good to go.  
Sam tried not to resent the inequality of it all. Ever since he could remember his older brother’s recuperative powers had out stripped his own, something that felt incredibly unfair considering Dean was four years older. But he had benifitted from it too many times to really resent it; how many times had Deans ability to bounce back and push through been what kept them alive?

Besides if Dean got second shower, Sam was only doing him a favour and helping him wake up, by using most of the hot water.

…ooo0ooo...

When Scott, the volunteer from Montauk fire department turned up in the all-terrain vehicle 90 minutes later, Dean was bright eyed and enthusiastic. Sam ran a jaundiced eye over the small vehicle realizing with a rising sense of dread that the cab would only fit two.

"Glad to see you two are comfortably dressed," Scott said easily, taking in their worn jeans, flannel shirts and hard worn boots.

"Gotta look the part when you first turn up, if you're a duck you have to walk and quack like a duck. Workin' and quackin' though… they very rarely get the job done. " Dean shrugged eyeing the little Polaris enthusiastically "Awesome, now I see why you dudes volunteer."

"Definitely one of the perks, though we make up for it when the water rescue work involves bringing in bodies," the kid swallowed and looked away.

"It's hard sometimes, but volunteers like you, you do good work..." Sam acknowledged solemnly trying to put the kid at ease with a bit of sympathy.

The kid shrugged "I surfed with Shaun and Tim. Marty Mc Millians kid, Cody, was a couple of years behind me at high school... Montauk is a pretty small place off season."

"Anything extra you can tell us about the victims, or town would really help." Dean ventured.

The kid didn’t volentare anything.

"So, who's riding on the back first?" Scott asked finally gesturing at the small flatbed of the little Polaris.

To Scott's amusement, a quick game of paper scissors rock ensued between the two FBI agents before the taller of the two took a seat in the cab.

"We could go back for one of the four wheel drives," Scott offered not really meaning it, looked out the back at the other agent.

"Nah, Deans fine," Sam assured him one side of his mouth quirked up, "he's a bit like a dog really, if he can't be driver he'd rather have his head out the window."

The two in the front shared a look at the sounds of enthusiasm coming from the back as they drove.

"Sounds like you know him pretty well."

"That's part of the life I guess." Sam shrugged. "So, small town, what can you tell me about the victims?"

"They were all good men, the best. All of them spent years round the sea. It's hard to believe that they drowned. But I guess they did... " Sam nodded.

"I know-knew Shaun best, he dated my dad’s kid sister, she’s like... my cool Aunty, since she's only 10 years older than me, we hung out lots. Shaun, he got me into surfing...that's all before he met Lisa of course, they've been married coming on 6 years." The kid sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"He proposed to Lisa on top of the lighthouse..." the kid muttered. "His body washed up about four miles from there," the young man gave a helpless shrug at the irony. "I guess in your job, things like this are small fry, you're probably used to it..."

"No, not really," Sam’s forehead scrunched "you never really get used to good people dying, sometimes there's a reason, we can make things better sometimes, for people down the line. But, uh, it's never really enough." The agent’s hazel and eyes stared into space pensively.

"So why are the FBI interested in drownings, I mean if I can ask of course." Scott asked finally after the silence stretched.

"Sometimes our job's about dotting the i's and crossing the t's." The agent replied.

…ooo0ooo…

They pulled off 27, Montauk highway finally and turned into Montauk point State park, the green sign that guarded the way declared it to be "The surf casting Capital of the world."

"We'll follow this route nearly all the way to the lighthouse, then swing along the coast to where the bodies washed up." Scott offered.

There was a whoop of joy from the Polaris's bed again, "Your partner seems to be having fun back there."

Sam pulled a face, "Dean only pretends to be an adult when he has to, that said, he's probably better at this job than I'll ever be. So, the lighthouse, what can you tell me, any interesting legends?"

"Montauk point light was the first lighthouse in the New York State, it's the fourth oldest active lighthouse in USA." Scott recited as if repeating a lesson, which possibly he was. "There's a lot of history there but it's never really been my thing, The Franzones, Doris and her husband Lawrence run the historical society they're the ones to talk to. I can hook you up, but don't expect me to wait around for the history torture."

Sam chucked good naturedly at the distaste in the kids voice.  
"Yeah, nah, history torture, I'll save that for Dean, Agent Cassidy. What about the less historical stuff."

"Well we have a lot of legends, rumours and conspiracy theories around here, agent, everything from aliens, to time travel and then there's the Plum Island Animal Disease Centre. Some people think they are making monsters out there. We locals don't give it any more credence than Lenny Nicole's drunken stories about how he saw a mermaid or Mikey Arcara’s claims that he doesn't set town mailboxes on fire for kicks. Hell! there are people that say the weird storms we've been having are the judgement of God due to all 'the drunken fornicating hipsters' we get every summer. People say lots of stuff, but Montauk’s just Montauk, we’ve got the same problems as any other small town.”

…ooo0ooo…

 

"Anything?"

"Nada!"

"Not even a jellyfish," Sam muttered shaking his head.

"You're just disappointed there weren't any freaky monster corpses, aren’t you." Dean snorted and rolled his eyes.

The brothers stood side by side on the windswept beach, looking out to sea in silence for a while.

"Well, maybe hoping for hex bags or enochian symbols carved in the rocks, or anything at all...was a bit much to hope for, how many times has the tide been in and out here since the last body washed up?” Sam sighed and ran a hand through his hair, glanced across at Deans face. “Besides this is only where they washed up, Scott says they could have drowned miles from here. The currents funnel stuff to shore in certain places..."

"Yeah, I know." Dean scuffed his boot in the sand and looked up at his brother, "man this case blows!" He bent down and picked up a clear light blue piece of glass from the sand, held it up to the sun.

"What's that?"

"Glass I guess," Dean muttered, handing it over, "maybe you can decorate your sandcastle with it.”

Sam sighed deeply then shoved it into his pocket absent mindedly.

"Gotta admit, this whole thing’s a bit too much like real police work." Sam swiped his sea blown hair out of his face in irritation. "Guess next we interview the families."

Dean made a face. "Great, well you get to ride in the back on the way home." He gestured towards Scott who sat waiting in the Polaris.

"What? I thought you were having the time of your life back there."

"Oh, I was, but you need to live a little Sammy, let the wind blow through your Rapunzel hair. Up your protein intake by eatin' a few bugs, that sort of thing."

"Jerk."

"Here catch," his brother tossed him a bottle of sunscreen. "Don't say I do nothing for you, can't have you gettin' all sun burnt Princess, Snow White."

"Uh, thanks" Sam hummed in surprise.

"You've been spending too much time in your ivory tower Bro. Besides, it's my job to take care of you Sammy." Dean muttered indulgently watching his brother apply the sunscreen.

Sam didn't see his brothers evil grin as he turned and climbed in the cab.

…ooo0ooo…

"So, find anything helpful?" Scott inquired.

"We ticked the boxes" Dean shrugged noncommittally."

"So back to base?"

"Yeah, thanks kid. Take your time, got something happening that, needs time to develop…" Dean chuckled to himself.

"Huh?"

"A bit of payback on Agent Bonaduce, we got a competition goin' on," Dean smirked and raised an eyebrow.

Scott shrugged, it wasn’t his job to ask questions.

…ooo0ooo…

"Hey Scott, thanks," Sam leaned into the Polaris.

Scott's eyes widened in shock and he looked sideways at Dean, Dean grinned back at him like a kid at the fair and hopped out.

"Uh, I'll text you Doris' number," Scott said eyeing Sam strangely, and waved the card with their contact details, before driving off quickly.

"He looked like he saw a ghost." Sam offered puzzled.

"No, definitely not a ghost Sam, gotta go get somethin' from the car, then we can clean up, eat and make with the interviewing."

"There're dead bugs in my hair aren't there?"

…ooo0ooo…

Sam stood in front of the mirror, his mouth open in shock.

No, not a ghost .... he was definitely.... he was definitely… WAYyyy too, orange to be a ghost. His mind back tracked over recent events as the penny dropped.

"DEANnnnn!" He bellowed, the muscles along his jaw jumping in fury.

"I take it terracotta, isn't you." Dean rumbled in amusement from the doorway.

Sam lunged across the room and grabbed the front of his brothers shirt.  
"It Is Not Funny," he grated in fury, then pushed his brother away from him in disgust.

"Wellll it sort of is, Sammy," eyebrows raised he lifted his hands in surrender before Sam took a swing at him.

"Easy, easy!” Dean soothed. “Here," he tossed his brother a lemon and a canister of salt.

"What the....?"

"Like in the movie "The wedding planner," mix then scrub, scrub. You are su-ch a melodramatic bitch, it's on-ly a little fashion disaster, not the end of the world." Dean stated mildly, then proceeded to take out his phone and snap a few photos for good measure.

Sam looked down at the salt and lemon feeling completely flummoxed by what Dean had done, the way he was now providing a solution.

"You're calling ME a bitch?! While giving me fashion advice based on a bad RomCom?" Sam exclaimed, "Dude I'm sooo gonna tell Jodie on you!" He flared and slammed the bathroom door to get the last word. He looked at the lemon and salt in his hand.

“Seriously?” He muttered “Mix, then scrub scrub scrub.” Dean was such an asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Sam, the balls back in your court. Are you going to admit defeat or up the anti?
> 
> Come on guys toss me a comment, a kudos... something.... Pretty pretty please. I sorta feel like I'm alone here.  
> to quote the the Floyd song "Is there anybody out there? anyone at all? Nod is you can hear me... anyone at all? " 
> 
> ... sigh....


	9. Chapter 9

**THING OF BEAUTY**

 

**Chapter 9**

When Sam emerged out of the bathroom he was pink with scrubbing.  
He looked more tanned than usual, but was no longer an alarming shade of orange; Dean found himself musing that maybe he ought to avoid any more decoration of his brothers face for a bit, just in case all the scrubbing wore off the mole beside his nose or something.

Dean was prepared to offer up a sacrifice of pleasing vegetation unto the bronzed deity, to appease his woeful wrath and terminate calamity.

Which translated as he had bought his brother crappy vegetarian hippy food from a disturbing place down the street by the name of "Naturally Good foods and Cafe," in Dean’s book a cafe that had to tell you that it was 'good', probably wasn't.

The bronzed deity examined the offering critically.

The bronzed deity partook of the vegetation and the penitent waited to see if the offering would be accepted and remission of sins granted.

Sam made a small humph sound of acceptance, and Dean relaxed in the knowledge that Sam wasn't going to pout all day and generally be a whiny bitch.

"This is actually good" Sam muttered looking surprised and eyed his brother’s food choice from the same place in interest. "What's that?"

"This" Dean said with a raised eyebrow "is the only thing on the menu that has any form of dead animal protein. This is…" Dean paused for effect, "The Montauk Monster! Yellowfin tuna, salad, avocado, cheddar cheese, tomato, red onion and sprouts on sprouted wheat bread" with every mention of an ingredient from the vegetable kingdom Dean gave a theatrical shudder of distaste. "What the hell even is sprouted wheat bread for Pete sake!"

Sam rolled his eyes "So consuming salad is your version of an apology?"

"Yup," Dean replied, around an overstuffed mouthful. "So... interviewing next of kin, we got four. Since the first one, slice n dice from Plum Island hasn't been IDed. Wanna split em and cover more ground?"

"Sure, sooo..." Sam considered his notes "I'll take Marty Mc Millians ex Susan and the son Cody. An' I'll take L... I mean Mrs Sessa," Sam avoided the name Lisa, darting a look at his brother. "That leaves you Garard Larsen’s housemate Randall Arc, and Tim Tierney’s girlfriend Penny Forbes."

"Ok, jack it up. I’m gonna go make myself awesome for the viewing public."

…ooo0ooo…

Sam was glad he hadn't sent Dean to interview Lisa Sessa.

There was the name of course: Lisa.  
It had been 7 years since Dean had walked away from Lisa and Ben, 7 years since he'd had Cas’ wipe their minds.  
But the year Dean had had with Lisa and Ben was the closest he'd ever had to a normal life.

Lisa was the could have been. Something Sam couldn’t help thinking Dean longed for secretly, a kid, a normal apple pie life.  
By virtue of who they were ~ Winchesters, Hunters, normal would never be theirs.  
A normal job, a loving wife and a kid… those were dangerous, destructive dreams.  
If you loved them you got the hell away from them, before they paid in blood. Or burned. Sam took a shallow breath around unbidden thoughts of Jess, which led him back to the fact that for all these years since Jessica's death Dean had avoided the beach just to spare him.

So, Sam was glad Dean wasn't here, because Lisa Sessa was a Lisa. But also because this Lisa was an upset grieving widow, Dean would have been out of his depth.... but also because Lisa Sessa had a cat.  
That cat was a very, very friendly cat.

And that cat was molting furiously in preparation for summer. Dean was allergic to cats, Sam didn't want his brother to suffer.... Well maybe a little, after the fake tan prank....

Mrs Sessa answered all his questions and she was as helpful as she could be, but all she really knew was that her husband had gone for his usual evening jog along the coast. When it had gotten late she'd begun to worry and driven along his usual running route in the car looking for him, finding nothing she'd begun to panic. After looking everywhere, he could possibly be, she'd contacted the police.

The police had searched.

A day later his body had washed up, less than four miles from the place he'd proposed to her.

There was no explanation why he'd even been in the sea.

Lisa Sessa had lost the love of her life and her world had imploded; but, she was trying to be brave, she was grateful to everyone who had been so kind to her in her grief, including Sam.

Wearily Sam wondered if knowing that her husband hadn't just drowned accidentally but might have been killed by something would make things better or worse.

When she apologised and offered him a lint brush to clean off the cat hair he smiled in thanks.  
Love and suffering, they were linked he thought sadly, and tried to set his mind to work on the next prank for his big brother. Whom he loved, and who he would make suffer.

Strangely enough his visit with Lisa Sessa had given him an idea, one so cunning you could pin a tail on it and call it, .... well a cat, really.  
He just needed a way to distract his big brother for a bit.

…ooo0ooo…

Sam sat opposite Susan Mc Millian with the obligatory cup of coffee in front of him, studying the woman critically as she told him about her ex-husbands death. There was grief there, but there was also something else, it had to do with her and Mc Millian’s son Cody, if he wasn't mistaken.

Marty Mc Millian was a commercial tuna fisherman, a good one from a family that had been tuna fisherman back two generations.  
The story was that an anchor rope had tangled around his leg dragging him overboard, then his body had been swept away by a riptide or ocean current. It was plausible, and yet... Susan hadn’t actually been there, Cody the 17 year old son had.  
Cody had sat quietly by his mother’s side looking slightly pained and uncomfortable through most of the story and then, when he'd opened his mouth to speak his mother had sent him away. Using the excuse the whole thing was upsetting the boy.

"Uh, I don't suppose I could have a glass of water and use the bathroom before I head off, could I?" He asked politely giving her a dimpled little boy smile.

"Yes, sure. Up the stairs, second door on the left, the first ones Cody's." She said, going off to fetch his glass of water.

Sam climbed the stairs and knocked on Cody’s door.

"Hi, can I come in?"

"Uh, yeah," the kid turned reddened eyes towards Sam and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve.

"Cody, it seemed to me you wanted to tell me something down there," Sam hunched in the desk chair across the room from where the kid perched on the bed, trying to look non-threatening and earnest.

The kid swallowed nervously.

Sam waited, face open and earnest.

"No one believes me...."

"Try me, I'm not here to judge - just listen. Because even if you didn't see what you thought you saw... what you thought you saw could be important."

"It wasn't an anchor rope, it was Something. Something grabbed his leg and dragged him overboard."

"I saw, I thought I saw …an arm come up and grab him. There was something in the water, not a shark or a fish or anything that makes sense .... Something with arms and hands.... but Mom says that's nuts!" The boy slumped again and looked miserable.

"Cody you've been through a lot," Sam soothed "minds in times of stress fill in the gaps, that doesn't make you nuts, it just means you loved your Dad and you want answers. Sometimes our mind latches on to perceived details to avoid dealing with the grief we feel," Sam advised gently and smiled winningly across at the boy.

The boy nodded and gave him a watery smile, won over by the voice of authority before him.

"Yeah I guess. Uh, thanks. Thanks for not laughing or saying I'm nuts," he offered Sam an almost hopeful smile, which plunged a stab of guilt into Sam’s heart.

"You've got to hold on to the good stuff, ya know. It gets better, honestly." He patted the kid gently on the shoulder and descended the stairs to say goodbye to the boy’s mother.

Something in the water.

Sam shivered and fingered the piece of blue glass and the carefully wrapped ball of cat hair in his pocket.  
Just once he would have liked to just build a sandcastle and think up new ways to get revenge on his brother.

But that wasn’t how Winchester luck worked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Meh! I’m sick, well actually I’ve been sick for more than a week. Darling daughter number one brought it home from college (which is high school over here in NZ) after incubating it into weapons grade strain (I could sell the kid to ISIS as a culture and dispersal medium of mass destruction) she gave it to her doting Mummy because life is more fun if you share.
> 
> -sigh-
> 
> The coughing and hacking up of glop is one thing, but for the past 3 days the blasted things made its way into my ears …. It’s like having a fishbowl full of water on my head. Every sound is magnified and muffled simultaneously, it all echoes round in here. So please could you send me a comment to cheer me up. *Mournful begging puppy dog eyes*


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

"Dean you have to be joking,” Sam heard his own voice getting progressively louder and higher pitched with every word.  
"It's belongs to fricking Department of Homeland Security, Dean. Why don't you just suggest we abduct the President instead? It'd probably be easier."

Dean didn't argue, he just gave Sam 'The Look,’ it was closely related to John Winchester’s Look which had said "You will do what you're told, boy. Or else!"  
That look, it had always been blood in the water to a shark, for Sam. He opened his mouth to continue ranting and then closed it again. Because Dean was Dean, not Dad.

"De-an!" He found himself whining just like he had when he was a kid.

"Sammy, tell me what else we can do. People are dyin'. You said it yourself the kids 'Something in the water, with arms and hands' is either man made or it's supernatural an' if it's man made it probably came from that Plum Island lab."

Sam huffed out a breath of frustration and pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's the Department of freaking Homeland Security, I'm not arguing because I'm worried I'll break a nail.  
I just... don't think we can get in. In 2013 they let some journalists take a tour after they developed the foot and mouth vaccine but that was after YEARS of asking for permission. You can bet they weren't allowed to wander round looking for sea monsters, Dean. You know how we get into places, we pretend to be someone from above them on the food chain, use their fear of the unknown, get in and out quick before they realise they've been had.  
You tell me what's above the Department of Homeland Security, Dean.... how do we fake that?"

"Sam they're a bunch of geeks on an island playin' with test tubes, guarded by some grunts with guns. You can find us a way in." Dean wheedled Crossing his arms.

"This is different Dean."

"No, it's not. You got this."

How many times had Dean said those words to him over the years since Stanford? “You got this.” Green eyes somehow hypnotising him with the depth of their belief. It was horribly unfair.

Sam closed his eyes taking a deep breath, trying to think.

Research. Not on lore this time, on government departments.

Tugging his fingers through his hair Sam looked across resentfully at his brother, who was beginning the process of stripping and cleaning their weapons in contemplative silence. The smell of gun oil and the small metallic sounds of the components being disassembled was as always, oddly soothing.

Flipping open the laptop Sam immersed himself in the data, trying to live up to his brother’s ridiculous beliefs.

…ooo0ooo…

Deans hands were busy with the almost graceful dance of caring for their weapons. His head meanwhile was in whirl of turmoil.  
He wasn't an idiot, messing with the department of homeland security wasn't a game. Monsters, Leviathan, Heaven, Hell, Gods sister, none of that had put the blind look of panic on his brothers face or the sickening twist in his own guts the way the thought of poking at homeland security did. Sam would find a way in, he was certain.  
But should they take it?  
Time was ticking, and another body would drop soon. Someone's husband, someone's boyfriend, someone's son... or brother. He remembered Penny Forbes tear streaked face, the grief she felt, having lost the guy she loved to the thing in the water.

He remembered every time he'd looked down at Sam dead body, used the memories of that howling, soul rending grief and the pain that still shadowed his memories despite Sam’s living breathing presence, like a penitent’s lash. He thought about what he'd done in Hell, the souls he'd ripped apart, the mistakes he'd made and knew deep down he couldn't walk away.  
He'd pay and pay and pay and still he'd never tip the scales towards paying what he owed. And Sam, he couldn't keep him out of it. If he could, Dean would pay for Sam too. But Sam was through letting Dean fight his battles.

"Take care of your brother," Dad had always ordered before he left. But Dean knew it had started before that, before the fire and Moms death.  
Mom had told him the story every night while Sammy grew inside her, "The story of Sam." The story that even Dad didn't know or if he did know once, he'd forgotten.  
It went with how Mom had always told him angels were watching over him, the other half of the story. Dean had wanted a little brother, with everything in his 3-year-old heart, he'd begged and pleaded for a little brother, but Mom and Dad weren't convinced. Mary had been so sick with Dean, it wasn't a good idea.  
"So, Dean prayed to God, with tears streaming down his little face, Dean prayed." Mary had told him every night after cuddles and kisses, with an indulging smile she'd laid his small hand over the bump in her tummy. "And God listened and gave you a little brother."

Before Sam was born, before the fire and Moms death, before Dad had lost part of himself to vengeance, before angels and vessels, before everything. Sam had been Deans responsibility. Because he'd prayed for him.

And now Dean had met God, and his sister. Chuck had called him and Sam the firewall between Dark and Light - That was his responsibility too.

Dean found himself wondering why he'd never told Sam, "The story of Sam." Wondered if Mom, would one day – Felt a weird moment of defensiveness at the thought.

"Huh, apparently, the department of homeland security ranks, the worst federal agency for employee moral." Sam muttered from across the room looking up for the laptop.

"Not much job satisfaction in sitting on an island cooking up monsters, ya think?"

Sam brow scrunched, and he shot his brother an irritable look. "There’s not much job satisfaction in sitting in a crap motel room trying to work out how to find and kill either, Dean."

"I dunno, really enjoyed ganking Hitler..." Dean waggled his eyebrows, receiving the requisite bitchy look and reluctant chuckle for his trouble.

"Maybe you're on to something with the geeks and grunts thing though," Sam mused.

"Yeah?"

A look of 'Sammy working things out' had settled on the younger Winchesters face.  
"Yeah, so we've got job dis-satisfaction, distrust of management, add in a little fear of being accused of wasting taxpayer money…  
What if you were good Ol' Larry Barrett and you got an internal email from Jeh Johnson, the Secretary of Homeland Security himself, saying 'Allegations have been made and investigation needs to happen ASAP, before this hits the media and affects your instillation’s funding. Be helpful, or heads will roll, starting with yours.'"

"Well, if I was good Ol' Larry Barrett I'd probably crap myself, then get my ass down to the dock to pick up Agents... who are we this week?" Dean grinned "So, you can really do that?"

"Sure." The dimpled smile flashed. "Just gotta set up a fake email for Jeh Johnson that looks legit, route it back to a hidden one behind....."

And he was off and running, humming low under his breath.

…ooo0ooo…

Dean looked down at his brother’s handiwork in frank admiration.  
"College boy, you're a genius,” he allowed himself one pat to his brothers shoulder, “You deserve a beer."

"Oh, I know…" Sam answered smugly thinking of a certain ball of cat hair sitting quietly behind the grill of the impala’s driver’s side air vent.

…ooo0ooo…

Dean sneezed and rubbed his eyes.

Sam studied his brother with fained concern, "You okay?"

"Yeah, aaahchooo, I'm fine ah ah chooo."

"Don't look fine." Sam eyed his brother critically. "You sure you aren't coming down with something."

"S-m, I'm fin- ah ah Choo!"

Sam rolled his eyes studying his red eyed sneezing brother sceptically.  
Idly he wondered how long Dean would suffer before being willing to take the anti-histamine he'd bought. How long before Dean decided he was dying, because Dean only had two settings 'Fine' and 'Sammy I think I'm gonna die.'

‘Sammy, I think I'm gonna die' usually had no relation to actual proximity to death. Real dying, Dean did stoically. "Sammy I'm gonna die," only happened with minor ailments.... like cat allergy.

By the end of the drive to the bar of Dean’s choice, Dean was in full allergic meltdown. Nose running, eyes watering sneezing, the whole nine yards.

But he was adamant that they were going in. Whiskey would cure all he declared stubournly.

Sam followed his brother into the Sloppy Tuna and glanced around.  
The place was- well, it wasn't a dive. Better yet, it offered food that looked edible and had an open deck looking out over the ocean. There was even a small notice advertising that tonight there'd be live music. Away from the impala and its hidden ball of cat hair, Dean’s miserable symptoms abated, and he became mellow and relaxed. Sam felt the tensions of the day slide away. When the girl began to sing from the small stage area Sam didn't even look at her, until Dean made a comment.

When he did, for a second it was like the world stopped.  
It was like seeing a ghost, except Jess had never got to be this age, she would forever be 21.  
But the blonde wavy hair, the smile, the way she tilted her head.  
Sam stared at the woman on stage singing and playing the guitar reminding himself over and over that she wasn't Jessica Moore, she was a stranger.

Dean nudged Sam impatiently "Huh?"

"Earth to Sammy."

"Yeah I'm here," his eyes kept sliding back to the girl on stage Dean followed his gaze and raised his eyebrow.

"So, we gonna eat or what?"

"Huh?"

"Tell ya what, I'll just order for you shall I?" Dean chuckled, amused.

"Yeah… sure...."

…ooo0ooo…

Dean was both amused and irritated, Sam had spent the entire time the chick had been singing, staring at her like a moony puppy. He'd eaten his burger on autopilot not even noticing that it wasn't some weird vege platter and contained actual red meat.

Sammy had a type, that was for sure. It hadn't escaped his notice that the girl looked more than a little like Jessica Moore, hadn't escaped his notice that his brother had asked about her at the bar and checked when she'd sing next, either. Seemed Sammy was thinking of taking up a different kind of hunt in Montauk. Dean was glad for him, but he hoped Sam wasn't like the guy who adopted a dog at the pound because it looked just like the one he had as a kid; then found that Rover 2.0 chewed his shoes, dug up the lawn and crapped on the door mat.  
He supposed it didn’t matter much, they wouldn’t be round long enough for things to go all Glenn Close.

Dean sneezed again and wiped his red watering eyes as he drove back to the motel, and here he thought the blasted cold had been kicked to the curb, now here he was sneezing and sniffling again.

…ooo0ooo…

Dean burst back into the room, with coffee and breakfast in one hand and a look of horror on his face.

"Sam!" he all but yodelled with distress, "Sam! We gotta check Baby!.... I think, I think there's some kinda curse on her!" His eyes were wide in horror, as he dragged his hand through his blonded hair in distress.

Sam stared at his brother in shock "A curse on the impala.....?"

"Yeah, every time I drive her, I end up like this," he waved his hand at his allergy reddened eyes and nose. "Some Evil skevie witch gotta done it. Crap, what the hell are we dealin’ with in this town!"

Sam couldn't hold it in any longer, he doubled over laughing.

"Sam, Sam," Dean cried in distress, rushing to his brother’s side. "Where does it hurt. Shit! I'll check for hexbags," his brother began trashing the room in a frantic search.

Sam straightened and with difficulty pulled himself together. "Dean stop!  
I'm fine, you're fine, the frickin' cars fine.  
DEAN! STOP!” He had to bellow to get through to his frantic brother.

Dean stopped.

"Come on, I'll show you." Sam couldn't help laughing as his brother followed him reluctantly out to the impala.

"Here's your hex bag" he said prying off the vent and fishing out the ball of cat hair.

"What...?" Dean whatted, still not catching up.

"Cat hair Dean... just a prank," his brothers mouth dropped open.

"So... you evil son of a bitch!" he breathed shaking his head "you sneaky evil ...."

"Cat hair, Dean Winchesters kryptonite!" Sam said shooting his brother a grin that was all dimples, sunshine and smart-ass smugness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, gosh! I hope you liked this chapter. I really wanted to make you laugh.  
> Thanks to Annabelle_W and unknown but appreciated Guest for commenting, input is always appreciated.  
> Thanks also to Annabelle_W, my_shangri_la, palomacal, and deandeandean as well as the other 9 guests for leaving kudos  
> My heads still in the fishbowl but I’m on the mend (I pray.)  
> ‘The story of Sam’ thing isn’t cannon, it’s based on how I swear my own green eyed boy got his little brother. Proof that that the only safe sex is no sex.  
> Mummy and Daddy's 'accident' was answer to prayer.  
> Teaching green eyed little boys to pray is a dangerous thing, I paid for it with 9 months of miserable puking, but things of worth come from times of trial.  
> I’ve never seen a kid love his little brother more.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The ferry horn pierced the thick morning fog with a mournful cry, they were between Orient Point at the North Fork's tip and Plum Island which loomed ever closer through the mist.  
Jet black great cormorants watched the ferry pass, from perches atop the wooden piling, the ferry cut through the water at a steady pace and entered Plum Gut Harbour.

Sam and Dean stood side by side at the ferry’s railing breathing the sea air and swallowing down a trepidation that had more to do with science and bureaucracy than anything else.

Sam had researched and done what he could to prepare them both. Dean had listened grimly like a student cramming for a test for which failure was not an option.  
They both knew it wasn't enough.  
Stanford Pre-law wasn't enough and a GED and a can-do attitude, sure as hell wasn't.  
Bullying and false bluster might be though, they were there to ask the questions not the other way around.

 

…ooo0ooo…

Larry Barrett was a tall prematurely grey man with blue eyes that swum behind fashionably square framed glasses, he had a pompous dementor and a perfectly pressed suit, his Oklahoma accent and impeccably shined shoes set Deans teeth on edge. But nothing about the man spoke of mad scientist - The man was a bureaucrat, an uncomfortable slightly flustered one, at that.

   

As they passed through the barbed wire fences and were searched by Department of Homeland Security agents, it was clear that the way had been paved for them.  
The agents stationed on Plum Island were far from the cream of the crop, little signs, but obvious.  
Their discipline was lax, their checks cursory. They looked at Sam and Dean like they were sharks in a goldfish pond, no one wanted to tangle with them.  
The brothers exchanged relieved glances as they were ushered into the lab grounds themselves.

…ooo0ooo…

Behind the large white framed blue and red sign emblazoned with the homeland Security crest and the words "Plum Island Animal Disease Centre," sat the laboratory itself. Surrounded by an expanse of stunted grass seeming to hunch in wait.

Built first in 1911 and remodeled in 1954 the buildings frontage was dusty rose and white stone with white framed windows, the peaked section at the front framing and curving away from a large entrance flanked by blocky stone. Behind that the rest of the rambling structure was made up of clunky white rectangular buildings that looked very much added on as an afterthought.

…ooo0ooo…

The bureaucracy was beginning to drive Dean insane, he shot his brother a pained look as 'the induction process' dragged on. Documents requiring reading and signing, affidavits promising "avoidance of contact with cattle, sheep, goats, deer and... swine for 5 days." Crash courses in emergency procedures and standard laboratory protocols.  
Once Sam had made it clear that "they would require access to all levels of the facility, without restriction, as they saw fit" a small flap ensued and a grave looking scientist in a white coat drew a vial of blood from each of them for ‘a base line serum sample’......more paperwork... Then, there was the matter of finding Sam a white lab coat that fitted his gangly arms.

Dean tried not to fidget and let Sam take point, thinking that if the whole process had any more red-tape, it would strangle him. He supposed that the mad scientists at PIADC were being careful to follow every procedure by the book and make a good showing. He knew that it was a sign that they were being taken at face value, that they were feared, not suspected.

Dean was also beginning to suspect the mad scientists weren't mad, they were just geeky smart, worried by the scrutiny and frigging boring.  
Dean eyed his little brother wondering if Sam was enjoying the geek fest or if he was also longing to run screaming.  
What the heck had they gotten themselves into?

………….

Larry Barrett left them alone in his office while he went to fetch "one of the lab staff to start the tour and someone to give them computer access to documentation."  
Shaking his head in bemusement, Sam discovered the man hadn't even locked his computer before leaving, taking the chance he quickly copied all his personal files and emails for examination later; meanwhile Dean riffled through the man’s desk draws, finding nothing more incriminating than a hip flask and a few photos of Barrett at the previous year’s Christmas party. Much to Dean’s amusement the guy was wearing a tutu and fairy wings while assisting Santa to giving out presents to a bunch of kids.

"Dean, put that back!" Sam hissed as Dean screwed the lid back on the flask.

"Sam, come on. It's practically medicinal. I'm only replacing the fluid that lab leech took." He grumbled replacing everything, Sam shot him a look that clearly said his brother was both irresponsible and irritating.

When Joseph returned, he was accompanied by a stout middle aged guy wearing comfortable jeans and a casual shirt under his lab coat - and a kid.  
Sam found himself wondering if it was ‘bring your kid to work day,’ the kid hung back behind the two men as if looking for protection and only stepped forward when she was introduced as "Sara Keene one of our senior virology technicians."

"Senior?" He found himself querying, as his hand engulfed her tiny one and she looked up at him from behind a pair of glasses that looked way too big for her, big blue eyes and a face scattered with freckles. She seemed to cringe away from contact with him, but lifted her chin with a look of defiance.

"Sara may be 23, but she has been with us for several years now... she is very good at her job agent Singer." Larry Barrett informed him in a cool Oklahoma tones. "Granted she is the youngest tech here at PIADC, but seniority has to do with ability and qualifications, not age." Barrett gave Sam a slightly irritated once over, “or size.” He added coolly and Sam got the feeling he'd just kicked the lab mascot.

Dean stepped forward into the awkward silence that followed. "Don't mind agent Singer, one of our other co-workers calls him Moose. He means well, but… he killed a number of brain cells studying law at Stanford before we got a hold of him," Dean shot his brother a warning look.

The stout guy stepped forward "I'm Steve, Steve Weir. I'm PIADCs MSO, Microbiological Safety Officer. That means I'm the bloke that makes sure no one breaches containment or stubs their toe, I’m also keeper of the procedural paperwork and incident reports, and have all the audit reports and accreditation details." He looked between the brothers expectantly. "Which one of you is up for death by paperwork?" Dean stepped back quickly and grinned at the kid. "That sounds right up Agent Singers alley, doesn't it? Where are we off to?"

The kid shot Barrett a complicated look that was part pleading for help, part grumpy kid that's been told to tidy her room AND entertain her annoying cousin at the same time. The stuffed suit simply turned and walked away.

"Well I have Work to do in cell culture," she said emphasising the word work, while eyeing Larry Barrett’s retreating back.  
"So, I guess there, if that's not a problem?"

.....

Dean sat uncomfortably attired in a lab coat, gloves, blue shoe coverings and a surgical mask, he was perched on a swivel chair with his back to a bench containing a complicated looking microscope.  
After explaining that the cell culture lab was a clean space and that they were wearing all the protective getup to protect the cell cultures from contamination, the kid had ordered him to sit and not touch anything.

Now the little despot was seated in front of a large metal box with a glass front, that gave off the constant rumbling of air suction.  
She was gloved, wearing two lab smocks and face mask, with what appeared to be a tray of eggs, a selection of glass dishes, metallic instruments and bottles of funny coloured pink liquid in front of her in the ‘Biohazard cabinet’ .

"What are you doing" Dean queried. "That's if you can talk an' work?" He asked her uneasily.

She looked over her shoulder at him. "Yeah, I can do both, this stuff gets kind of automatic. The short answer is I'm making an embryo chicken liver cell culture." she snorted looking at his incomprehension. "I can tell you what I'm doing step by step and why, maybe then— Please, can you tell me why you're here. Mr Barrett didn't really tell me anything, and I don't see how I can help you without knowing what you're looking for." She squirted clear fluid over the egg shells.

Dean nodded.

"Viruses need living cells to reproduce, they hijack the cells and sort of set them to work making copies of themselves. Here in cell culture we make and grow cell lines. Right now, I'm harvesting the livers of these chicken embryos to produce a primary cell line," she fished a featherless chick out of the shell and laid it spread eagled on a glass Petri dish. Damn it was gross.  
“The chicks themselves are dead, but the cells are still viable, because we kill them by sticking them in the freezer..." She chopped open Chicken Little with a pair of small metal scissors and fished around in its guts with some tweezers then pulled out a tiny pink lump. "We take our organ of choice," she held up the lump of glistening tissue, "and digest it down using trypsin into single cells then seed them into cell culture flasks, containing a growth medium. They adhere to the plastic of the flask in a single layer. We then use the cell culture to grow virus either out of diagnostic samples or of known virus we are studying. I'll show you yesterday's lot once I've got these done."  
Dean watched her work in horrified fascination. She seemed totally unaware how gross it was, and Dean couldn’t help imagining Sam’s face if he’d been forced to watch, he’d never order a chicken salad again.  
Once Sara had degutted all the chicks and retrieved all the pink lumps, she added them to a flask of pink fluid with a white rod in it that whizzed round and round on top of a small metal device with a dial on the front.

"So, now it's your turn,” she said simply, "how can I help?"

"We are here ‘cause there have been allegations that things are being made here that shouldn't be." Dean said carefully.

The kid started laughing then shook her head with a sigh of exasperation. "Seriously? Which ruddy politician’s read Michael blasted Carrolls book now? Every couple of years some idiot thinks they've found PIADCs deep dark secret and starts another Montauk monster hunt. I've worked here for years, been over every inch of Plum Island. Worked with every scientist, we're like a family here, even the annoying ones like Woldeck." She shook her head "especially the annoying ones like Woldeck, he's sexist and racist and a pompous know it all, but everyone here works hard to protect America, from things that the public don't even know to be worried about. The media and politicians they're just out to make a name for themselves... they scaremonger and accuse public servants like us of being evil mad scientists, cooking up sinister plagues to start the zombie apocalypse." The kid sighed, "I don't suppose there's any point in shooting the messenger though… I just wish they understood, we are trying to protect everyone in America here."

A timer beeped and she poured the chicken liver soup through a filter covered funnel into a tube of liquid, capped it off then took it over to a balance by the opposite wall and made a tube of water to match.

"So now we spin this down in the centrifuge to sediment out the cells, count it and seed it into a culture flask. Later-on our in the dirty lab I’ll inoculate yesterdays flasks with some suspected avian influenza samples."

…ooo0ooo…

It had been a long day. Sam and Dean stood side by side on the return ferry feeling exhausted... and one of them felt....very clean.

After traipsing all over the facility, looking in every lab building in the complex, talking to every staff member and digging through a mountain of paperwork their last visit had been to the Biosafety level 3+ lab.

By that point it had become very clear that Plum Island Animal Disease Centre was not, nor ever had been, creating genetically modified sea monsters.

When it had been explained, that the only thing that went into the lab, that didn't come out via a giant autoclave, was naked people and those people would be thoroughly decontaminated, a frantic game of paper scissors rock ensued.

Somehow, Sam had lost.

It had been a mortifying experience to have to strip naked and traipse through the air lock. Sam had been even more mortified that the largest lab scrubs available for visitors, were both too tight and too short on his lanky frame.

Following Steve round the lab and faking interest in all the science stuff by that point had been… hard work.  
The stripping naked yet again, decontamination and "showering out," then being forced to stand there dripping, waiting for the airlock to cycle through a change of air, it hadn’t done Sam’s hair any wonders at all.

On the positive the whole experience had removed the last remnants of Sam’s unwanted fake tan rather nicely, Dean thought.

"Well what did you think of our trip to lab land?" Dean drawled finally.

"If I never see another lab coat for as long as I live, it will be too soon" Sam muttered darkly.

"So, it’s back to the drawing board?"

"Heck yes, I'm almost relieved" Sam exhaled ruffling his very clean hair "it's gotta be supernatural, which means we hit the lore."

Dean looked back towards the fast retreating Island "That kid back there thinks she's protecting America" he mused.

"Guess she is."

"Doesn't seem right to let a kid do the job of protecting us." Dean humphed

Sam chuckled and stared at his brother amused "How old were you, your first hunt, Dean? How old was I?"

"Yeah I know, but...the whole invisible deadly diseases thing..... Never thought ‘bout it before....Now I know some girl’s got the job..."

"No different," Sam shrugged, "let her protect us from the stuff we don't know ‘bout and we'll protect her from the stuff she doesn't know 'bout."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the trip to ‘Labcoat land’ folks you can take the girl out of the lab but you can’t take the lab out of the girl. It was just across the water and I couldn’t help visiting. Surely you gotta give me a few points for letting you imagine Sam in the shower... Seriously though folks, decontamination showering is s-o not sexy it’s just part of the job. Send me comments and kudos and maybe I’ll stop torturing you with science and get back to hunting monsters.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Dean emerged from the bathroom just as Sam finished typing a memo to Larry Barret, 'from Jeh Johnson' thanking him for being so accommodating towards the investigating agents, and being of exemplary help in laying to rest the unfounded accusations.

Reading over his brother’s shoulder Dean cleared his throat, "Why ya givin’ Larry an atta boy Sammy? Aren’t Homeland Security staff supposed to be miserable and underappreciated."

Sam shrugged ruefully, "Yeah Dean....uh...I just wanted to give them some… I dunno, positive feedback... ya know.”

"Yeah…” Dean shook his head, “you gonna shower?"

The corners of Sam’s mouth pulled down. "Apparently there's such a thing as being too clean, who knew? Feel like I need to go roll in the mud or something, man!”

"Yeah...” his brother lent forward, “gotta admit, you smell kinda funny." Dean sniffed theatrically and pulled a face. "Got an idea, how 'bout we hit the Sloppy Tuna, you can find that guitar chick, ask her to help you get a bit dirty," he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"De-an!" Sam screwed his face into the obligatory bitchface, but it seemed a little fake.

"What's her name anyway?"

Sam mumbled something, then sighed and cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Her names Samantha Agua," he answered reluctantly.

Dean favoured him with a delighted smirk. "Sam and Sammy sittin’ in a tree..." he crowed in mocking sing song.

"Shut up! Seriously, Dean, what are you? like 12!"

"Na-uh, just happy that my little bro’s actin’ human insteada like some kinda monk, go pretty ya self up, Bitch.” He looked his brother up and down critically "an' no flannel, Sam!"

Sam gave his brother a half-hearted shove, “Monks are human beings too, Jerk.”

.....

Dean was pleased to see his baby brother had taken his advice when he emerged from the bathroom 10 minutes later, rediculas hair slicked back neatly with gel, wearing one of his good, tighter fitted pairs of dark jeans and an electric blue t-shirt that brought out the blue in his eyes and a plain black button down over it.

He looked good.

…oooOooo…

At least this time they'd ordered the food before the girl turned up, Dean thought wryly.  
Not that Sam was paying any more notice to the food this time.

He’d spent the past half hour stealing Sam’s fries without him noticing. Which kinda defeated the whole purpose of stealing his brother’s food in the first place and led the elder Winchester to begin contemplating the status of their prank war once again. Whose turn was it anyway? Did winning the paper scissors rock at the lab -sentencing Sam to the joy of decontamination, count?

Sam was in another world, again; puppy dog eyes trained on the blonde woman up on the stage area like a starving basset hound.

Sam’s long fingers rolled the fragment of blue glass, they’d found at the beach, back and forth restlessly. Betraying the anxiety brewing inside Sam’s too big brain, in behind those hazel puppy dog eyes, under all that too-clean princess hair.

How Sammy could still be such a nervous little boy around women, Dean had never worked out.  
He'd tried to instil some of his own cocky self-confidence with women, into his baby brother over the years — How he'd tried!  
But whenever Sammy really liked the look of a woman, he still seemed to regress to thinking he was a weedy 12-year-old. Last picked for sports.

Sam was unaware of how many women watched him cross the room with frank speculation.  
Dean would never admit it to his brother, might say he was the hot one and Sam was the smart one, but Souless Sam’s conquests had proved it. Women liked what they saw when his little brother walked into a room.

But of course, when Sam had a soul, he took way too long to sack up and make a move. Usually he was too worried about the case to even think about getting any. After the monster of the week was BBQed they often had to scram to avoiding the unwanted attentions of law enforcement.

They'd still be sitting here next month, with Sam overthinking, dithering and mooning if he left his little brother to his own devices, Dean thought with a sour pull of his lips.

Well....It was up to big brother to move things along a bit.

Wandering down the bar a ways he waved for a repeat of their drinks.

"The singer chick take requests?" He asked slipping a few extra bills across the bar along with their drink order and gave the woman his ‘A’ game smile. “See the tall dude over there? He’s my brother and I was wondering if you could do me a favour…”

............

One of the bar staff walked over to Samantha Agua after she finished the current song, said something and gestured over her shoulder in the brothers direction, both women glanced over at them, then girl from the bar giggled and handed the singer some bills. Samantha Agua smiled.

"Sam this one goes out to you.” Samantha announced into the microphone. “Your brother says ask for my number already!" Then she flipped her blonde hair back over her shoulders and launched into an updated version of Bob Segers, ‘Night moves.’

Sam nearly choked on his drink and shot his brother a horrified look, hunching lower in his seat.

Dean chuckled and clapped his brother on the shoulder before deserting him to stew on his mortification. Reportedly, in search of a pool table.

Sam wasn't sure if he wanted to die or kill his brother..... Maybe a bit of both. Murder suicide might be a plan.

After a few more songs, Samantha, the singer took a break.

Sam looked up from his mortified contemplation of the blue green glass in his fist, to find her standing next to him.

"So, Sam, do you want to ask for my number?" She asked coyly, chin propped in her palm while she gazed at him.

    

Sam shot her a startled aw-shucks grin. "Is there a man alive that wouldn't?" He asked, returning her gaze frankly, hoping the lighting was low enough to hide the heat in his face.

Apparently, that was the right answer.

"A group of us are going to have a bonfire down on the beach later, do you, and… your brother want to join us?"

Sam looked up into blue eyes as deep as the sea and couldn't imagine anywhere he'd rather go.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A bonfire on the beach, some beers, a gorgeous girl or two. I think I've found the Winchester boys a happy place... what could possibly go wrong.


	13. 13 Unlucky for some

**Chapter 13 (unlucky for some)**

The driftwood fire burnt with blues and greens flaring in its depths.  
Dean nursed his beer feeling deeply content as he watched his little brother across the fire, sharing a bottle of beer, chatting and laughing with the blonde woman by his side.

The Jessica look-a-likes friends were all pretty, interested and appeared willing.  
But, right now he was happy just to fade into the background and watch his little brother. He wondered if this was how it could have been if he'd walked out on Dad and gone with Sammy to Stanford (well not to Stanford- but if he'd got a job at a garage nearby or something.) Dean handled the thought carefully, by its edges, placing it aside like a delicate creature.

Don't go there he told himself. But he couldn't help brushing the cobwebs off the dream the jinn had offered him all those years ago, it was a beautiful forbidden thing.  
Only more beautiful, because in this one he'd still have had his bond with Sam.

He imagined Sam young and happy, an up and coming lawyer, engaged to Jess, maybe with a rugrat on the way.  
He imagined himself with a home, the same bed every night, waking up to the feel and sweet smell of a woman’s long hair on the pillow next to him, a sleep warm pliant body next to him every time he woke...

He blinked at the fire, realizing it wasn't the face of the jinn dream girl, or even Lisa he saw in his head now... but Amara.

Well... it wasn't exactly new news, but given the circumstances, it was pretty screwed up.

He gave a rueful mental shrug and he put it all aside.  
Settling into the moment again with another mouthful of beer.  
Tonight, was good, leave it at that. Tomorrow they’d be back to trying to track down whatever freaky monster was drowning dudes.  
But tonight Sam was happy and laughing, with a girl under his arm, going to get some for the first time in forever. And he had two hot chicks curled beside him, hanging on his every word.

“…No, everyone says it’s not like the movies, bein’ in the FBI. But they’re all lyin’, people do the strangest shit. I’m telling you…some of it you’d never believe. This one chick… Thought she was a witch, poisoned half the PTA ‘cause her pumpkin pie didn’t win a ribbon. The pastry was like cardboard, I’m telling you!”

…ooo0ooo…

Sam felt drunk, his skin was tingling, his heartbeat surged in his ears and he felt vaguely like he was spinning.  
Every brush of Samantha's fingers as they passed the bottle back and forth, each shared smile and glimpse of that face, so familiar and so mysteriously different, god! It made him feel like he was 20 again.  
Every inch, where her body pressed against his sent a pleasant ache of anticipation through him.

Love, lust or simple need he didn't care. He just wanted this.

When Samantha stood up and took his hands, drawing him to his feet, his eyes met Deans across the fire.

.........

Dean dis-tangled himself from the two tipsy ladies either side of him and moved over to his brother and his date. "Looks like you two are off, I'm sure you can give my brother a ride home," Dean gruffed and shot his brother a sly wink, clapping a hand on both his brother's, and Samantha's shoulders approvingly.

At the contact, the blonde woman beside Sam drew a sharp breath, blue eyes wide as she looked up at him. Surprised by the contact, or as if she found something about him a little shocking, he took a step back and subtly checked that his weapons were concealed. When he met her eyes again the singer looked un-phased.

"Oh, I'm sure I can do that," she replied and shook all that wavy blonde hair back over her shoulders shooting Sammy a smoldering look.

“Yeah umm great.” Dean backed off another step and gave the pair a wave.

Sam just smiled at him, fox-slanted eyes a bit dazed, and Dean hoped his brother wasn’t too drunk. Not likely, he’d only had a few beers and there was a lot of Sam to fill. Samantha took Sam’s hand in hers again and led him away from the fire towards the sounds of surf. Dean watched him go with an amused smirk on his face, "Have fun Sammy,” he murmured indulgently, then settled back into the sand by the fire between the two young ladies and slung his arm round them again. "I guess we've got the party to ourselves now," he announced with a smoldering smile, pulling them both against his chest.

They giggled and snuggled in closer.

Good times.

…oooOOooo…

Sam stood in the dark with Samantha looking out at the moonlit sea where it crashed against the coast.

She turned to face him without a word, running her hand up his shirt front, cool fingers sliding beneath the fabric, sending shivers of desire running up his spine and coils of heat pooling low.

She ran a sharp nail down his skin at his throat, a tiny flicker of pain that made his blood surge higher as her other hand reached up to cup his cheek.  
Her full lips parted as she looked up at him. Eyes filled with desire.

Then, a look of revulsion crossed her face.

"What the hell?” She snarled "what happened to you?! you're… you're broken," she spat the words, her hand dropping away, "I could have sworn.... it's got to be the brother I want." with that she turned and stalked off.

Leaving Sam alone in the dark feeling stunned, a broken puppet with its strings cut.

For a few long minutes, Sam stood blinking in confusion, uncertain what Samantha had just said, what he’d done wrong.

Then, he turned and trudged back towards the fire.

As Sam neared the fire he saw Dean, then Samantha.  
She walked straight up to his brother wrapped her arms around him and kissed him.

The sight plunged a blade into Sam’s guts and stole the breath from his lungs.

Spinning on his heel Sam lurched away from his brother’s betrayal and sprinted into the night.

…ooo0ooo…

When Samantha neared the fire without Sam in tow, Dean climbed to his feet, aiming to ask where Sam was.  
Then, the singer wrapped her arms around him and kissed him.

For a second Dean was too surprised to react. "Wo-oh I think you've had too much to drink, girl! Wrong brother!" he muttered, pushing her away gently.

She looked at him stunned and surprised.

"Think I better take these two home," he muttered pulling his two, partially drunk lady friends to their feet and leading them back towards the impala without a look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick update for comments gratefully received.
> 
> ....so that probably wasn't exactly how you expected things to go, it sure wasn't for poor Sammy either.
> 
> Happy authors post more.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

The storm hit suddenly. One moment it was a quiet moonlit night.  
The next, dark clouds rolled in blocking out the moon. The wind howled and the sea was whipped into a snarling monster trying to devour the land. Grumbles of thunder preceded clashes of lightening, then the rain began.

In seconds Sam’s dress shirt, t-shirt, light jacket and jeans were plastered to his skin by the icy downpour. He hunched in on himself, kneeling in the sand where his headlong flight finally ended, when he tripped over something in the dark.  
The rain brought him back to his senses somewhat.

Clawing back his straggling hair out of his face, Sam climbed laboriously to his feet and began the trudge back along the coastline; shoulders drooped and feet dragging through the soggy seagrass, drift wood and uneven sand.

When he finally reached the bonfire, it was nothing but greasy ashes and drowned blackened wood. The beach was empty, and the impala gone.

The walk back to the motel was a long one, with the roiling thoughts inside his head to keep him company.

Of course, Samantha didn't want him, he was a fool to think anyone would.

She was right, he was broken, dirty, unclean.

Of course, Dean was the one she wanted, he was used to that.

Always second best, the least loved son.

To blame for his mother’s death, never good enough for his father.

Dean was always Bobby’s favorite. The popular one in the never-ending round of new schools.

Hell, even Cas had a 'profound bond' with Dean.

Lucifer, in the cage told him over and over what a disappointment he was.

The only person who had ever looked at him for himself was Jess...

But that was only because she had never really met Dean, never compared them. If she had, she'd have walked away from him without a second glance and chased after Dean too. Like Samantha. Because Dean was Dean… and he’d never measure up.

Sam swallowed and wiped his wet face with his fist, only the rain he told himself.

Dejected Sam trudged onwards, while the rain slid freezing fingers beneath his collar and down his spine, reminding him of Toni Bevell’s cold shower and all the things she’d said to him in that basement.

Again, and again his thoughts circled to the image of Dean and Samantha clinched together. The impala gone from the car park.

How could Dean do that to him?

Dean, the one person he truly thought loved him.

Samantha was nothing to Dean, just another skirt to chase... how could he....

Resentment flared.

The longer the image of Samantha and Dean together circled in Sam’s head, the hotter the resentment flared. Jealousy smoldered.

Soon, his head thumped with equal parts pain and anger.

When he finally reached the motel room, the impala wasn't there and the room was empty.

Dean hadn't come back.  
It was all the evidence Sam needed.

Enraged beyond enduring, he turned and pounded his fists into the wall over and over, feeling the dry wall disintegrate beneath the outdated wallpaper and the skin of his knuckles split, it felt almost good, until the pain caught up.

Swearing he watched the blood drip down his long fingers onto the floor.

His head pounded nauseatingly making his knees buckle, spilling him to the wooden floor by the bed, too dizzy and exhausted to get up.

…ooo0ooo…

Dean had dropped the two women home by the time the storm hit. The little redhead invited him in 'for a coffee' but his musings earlier about Amara left him feeling weary and disinterested, so he’d made an excuse and fled.

The rain sheeted down like he was driving through a waterfall and thunder snarled alarmingly overhead, visibility was cut to nothing.

Reluctantly, he pulled the impala over onto the shoulder to wait out the worst of it.

  
Maybe it was the thunder and the drumming rain, Dean’s head began pounding like the worst hangover ever, he felt dizzy and sick. Resting his hands and forehead on the Impala’s cool steering wheel he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to collect himself.

…oooOooo…

When Dean woke, the storm was gone and the sun was high, groaning he straightened wondering how he could have drunken so little the night before, and feel so awful this morning.  
He was sure Sammy would tell him it was a sign of encroaching old age.

Stretching so his spine popped, he massaged the back of his neck, wondered how Sam’s night had gone.  
It was pretty certain Sammy wouldn't have gotten much sleep last night (assuming his date wasn't too drunk and Sam wasn’t too much of a frickin’ gentleman to accept the action.)

It was a turn up for the books, that, he Dean Winchester had spent the night alone in his Baby while his kid brother was the one getting himself laid by a hot blonde.

A sunny smile found its way to his lips, despite how crappy he was feeling.  
Seemed they really did live in a world where anything could happen. It made him feel kinda hopeful, life was good!

Right now, he wanted- no he needed, pie. Pie and coffee.

…ooo0ooo…

When Dean sauntered through the door carrying coffee. Whistling and grinning, and drawled, “Mornin' lover boy," in his most infuriating tone, it was too much for Sam.  
He rounded on his brother and punched him in the jaw.

Dean flew back into the wall with a thud and the coffee he'd been carrying exploded against the wall. He slid to his ass on the floor, dazed and drenched in coffee.

Dean looked up at his looming brother in shock.

"What the Hell? Sam!"

"I saw you with Samantha," his brother raged, "I know where you've been all night."

Dean watched his brother draw back his foot as if to kick him in the ribs, then he lurched away from him and out the door.

The door slammed rattling in its frame, and Sam was gone before Dean could even collect himself.

…ooo0ooo…

Sam found his way to "Naturally Good Foods and Cafe."

The place reminded him of his brother. His stupid, jack ass, fake tanning, salad penancing, betraying brother!  
But he’d run out of steam to flee any further.

He sat on a stool at the lunch counter turning the sliver of blue glass over and over in his hands while his undrunk coffee went cold in front of him.

The aging hippy chick waitress ambled over yet again to offer him a refill.

Studied him with faded brown eyes as if she could see all of his woes at a glance.

"What've you got there, honey?" She asked gesturing to the glass.

"Just some sea glass" he shrugged offering it up to her.

"Oh, no, it isn't, sweetheart, I know my gems and minerals young man," she said handing it back after a moments inspection and wrapping his fingers round it. "What you've got there is a piece of Beryl, also known as Aquamarine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Dean, poor Sam. Women are sooo much trouble.  
> Oh and look it wasn't just a bit of blue glass after all - - is it significant? Who knows eh? But it's pretty to look at and Sammy keeps playing with it. I had a similar bit of stone in my motorbike jacket pocket for years, so maybe I just wanted to give Sammy a pet rock. Please send me more comments because I'm asking nicely and giving you lots of chapters.....or I'm going to think its better posting chapters just once a week. Thanks to the people who have kudosed and commented.  
> I think I've got ficwriters ailment... the addiction to feedback, it's a sad state of affairs! the problem is like all hard drugs after a while you have to up the dose to get the same high. I'm not saying it's good or healthy, I'm simply saying it's how the world works.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

By the time Dean climbed to his feet to chase after his little brother, Sam was gone.  
When he called, Sam’s phone went straight to voice mail.

The whole thing was bizarre, the way Sam had drawn back his foot to kick him with such rage in his eyes, it left him cold. Had he done something to deserve this?

'I saw you with Samantha' 'I know where you've been all night.'

The girl was drunk, she'd kissed him by mistake, he hadn't done anything to deserve this - had he?

For a second Dean wasn't sure, his mind clawed back over the oddly fuzzy, distorted memories from the previous night. He remembered the kiss…

The girl was drunk, she'd kissed him by mistake, he hadn't done anything to deserve Sam’s rage - had he?

He hadn't led her on, had he? He'd said less than ten words to the chick - hadn't he?

Dean blinked grinding his knuckles into his aching eyes and slumped onto the bed, then looked down at himself suddenly aware he was soaked in coffee.

Coffee, he'd bought Sammy coffee even though he wasn't sure Sam would be back from his night with Samantha.

Damn, how hard had Sam hit him? He fingered his split lip and sniffed back the blood where Sam had caught his nose, felt his jaw. The answer was pretty damn hard, but there was no real damage, he'd had worse a million times.

Dean climbed to his feet to examine the damage in the mirror.

But stopped halfway to the bathroom, surveying the dents in the wall and the splatters of blood on the floor. Sam’s clothes from last night were in a soggy, sandy heap on his bed.

What the hell?! Sam was usually neat nearly to the point of OCD. Blood was smeared on the clothes and bedding. None of this made sense, was Sam hurt?

Again, he dialed his brother.

"Come on Sammy pick up the damn phone!" Again, it dropped straight to answer phone.

Worry clamored at him, what'd happened here?

"I saw you with Samantha" - So Sam had seen the girl kiss him.

"I know where you've been all night" - Where had he been all night?

….He'd dropped the other two chicks home,…. then the storm hit. And…. he'd pulled off the road…. He remembered the feel on laying his forehead against the cool leather of Baby's steering wheel. Then nothing. Nothing until he woke this morning.

That, in itself was odd, all he'd had to drink last night was beer. Let's face it he'd been drinking whiskey straight since he double digits. Last night he'd blacked out after what, 3 beers? Had the chicks roofied him, slipped one of those designer drugs in his beer?

"I know where you've been all night"

Still… He wouldn't have, would he?  
Surely, he'd never stoop so low as to screw the girl he knew his brother was so hot for - Would he? He'd walked away from her on the beach, taken the other two home. But there was a sneaking part of him that wondered, had he gone back? Had something else happened that he just didn’t remember?

The girl was drunk, she'd kissed him by mistake, he hadn't done anything to betray his brother….. Had he?

 

He looked again at the craters in the wall, the wet sandy clothes on Sam’s bed, the blood on the floor.

Again, he dialed. Again it went straight to answer phone.

The craters in the wall were Sam fist sized, the blood on the floor only splatters from superficial wounds, like split knuckles.  
Sam hadn't moved like he was hurt, Dean had spent years, after hunts assessing how hurt his little brother was by the smallest detail.

So, Sam was physically okay? .... Yeah.....

But Sam was pissed at him, furious.  
His brother had always been mercurial, thunder and lightning, vicious words and recriminations. He could make you bleed with words, turn you inside out and gut you with his logic when he had a mind to. Dean had no illusions about Sam, he could be a manipulative, vicious little shit at times. Problem was, he could turn on a dime and be just as remorseful, earnest and heart wrenchingly repented. He could break your heart with those puppy-dog eyes and his open hearted vulnerability, like he was a little kid stuffed in that giant lanky body.

He could make you feel like you were the most important person in the universe, and when he looked at you eyes all shining with belief, you felt you could do anything.

Sam could make you feel an inch tall or a hundred feet tall and bulletproof. Dean knew all that, Dean accepted all that, it was just how Sam was.

Sam was mad at him, and Dean had no idea if he deserved it.

Again, he dialed Sam’s number. Again, straight to answer phone.

Looking down at the coffee drying and going stiff in his shirt and pants Dean gave a mental shrug.

Well there wasn't anything he could do but clean up the mess now, could he?

All he could do was weather the storm, do what he could to make this right. He straightened and picked up Sam’s wet clothes off his bed, dumped them on the scummy coffee puddle against the wall. Turned towards the bathroom.

Stripping off his own clothes is the bathroom, Dean wondering what to do next, about the case.  
After all, they still had a job to do. Hunting things and saving people, the family business.

Irritably waiting for the motel plumbing to do it’s job and the shower to heat up Dean combed his fingers back through his blonded hair feeling particles of sea grit scrape against his scalp.  
So, he hadn't showered since the beach and he didn't think he smelt of anything but wood smoke and coffee, so maybe… he was in the clear, innocent of Sam’s wrath. A misunderstanding that would blow over.

He just wished he knew for sure. There was something hinkey about this whole thing he brooded unhappily as the warm water stung his split lip.

..........

Toweling his hair, Dean glanced into the mirror again and felt slightly irritated by seeing himself reflected in the mirror still blonde.  
Blonde bimbo look ,Sam had said, was that what Sam really thought of him?... He shoved the thought away, stung.

What next in the monster of the week hunt?  
Cracking the laptop, he checked the emails. There was one from the sourpuss lady coroner. The outstanding lab results, were finally in.

Damn! Why wasn't Sam here for this? He scanned the results trying to work out if anything was useful to the case.

Then he caught a vaguely familiar word flagged in red.

Oxytocin: significantly above normal ranges.

Dean stared at the word trying to remember where he knew that word from.  
Then he remembered.....  
"Son-of-a-bitch" he rasped in horror.

Another town, another lady coroner, one of the worst cases they'd tackled and it had taken Bobby’s intervention to pull their asses out of the fire that time……before they'd killed each other.

"It's a fucking siren!" It all made sense suddenly, the blonde that looked like Jess. Sam’s over the top jealous behavior…

He needed to find that bronze dagger, his eyes fell on the splatters of Sam’s blood on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's a siren? Or is it? Dean sure thinks it is and he's got Sam’s blood and I know there’s a bronze dagger in the trunk, so that’s all good…..  
> So everything will be ok won't it?  
> Is Sam safe hanging out at a vegan hippy cafe?  
> And will the boys ever end up building that sandcastle or continuing their prank war?  
> *Impish* grin* Give me an appropriate offerings of comments and kudos and I'll keep the ball rolling.
> 
> p.s do you like my usage of red?


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter** **16**

So, the working theory was that the fugly of the week was a siren, that it had gotten to Sammy and all that explained Sam attacking him.  
Dean was pretty sure the siren was Samantha.  
All the other victims had gone missing in the late afternoon or early evening; monsters loved patterns, so Dean figured he had time to gank the bitch before Sam was in too much danger.

That said, he was getting pretty desperate to find his baby brother, and beyond furious at him for turning off his phone.

"Damn it Sam, I'm getting you a GPS tracking collar. Answer your frickin’ phone already, please man! Samantha's a siren," he left another message and resisted the urge to trash the room.

Kneeling on the motel floor, Dean poured a few drops of holy water over the splatters of his brother’s dried blood, scraped at each one carefully with the bronze dagger and smearing the resulting gunk over one side of the bronze blade, then cut himself and smeared his own blood on the other side for luck.

"Sammy, what is it with you and banging monsters?" He asked the empty motel room in frustration, sighed and rubbed his fragile head. Belatedly remembered the last time they’d faced a siren it had pretended to be a dude, a replacement little brother at a time when everything between him and Sam had been lies and heartbreak. That time the siren had hooked HIM. (Though there’d been no banging going on, thanks!) … So yeah, maybe he oughta NOT make a big deal of this after he hauled Sammy’s ass out dodge. Else Sammy was likely to deploy one of his epic bitch faces and remind his only big brother of those facts of life, Sam Winchester, one-time wanna-be-lawyer style.

At least Sammy’s siren was playing at being a chick, to hook Sam, not some replacement little brother. Dean shook his head and thought how pathetic he was. Really- he didn't want to remember how it had been all those years ago.

Dean’s mind shied away from an unbidden memory of holding a knife to Sam’s throat, watching the blood trickle down at the bidding of the last siren they'd encountered. God! he'd near killed Sam with an axe for the last frickin' one.... Wasn't ever gonna share a hip flask, without wiping the rim.

Sliding the blade under his Fed suit jacket, Dean headed out to try and find Sammy, and the skank bitch he was going to gank.  
  


…oooOooo…

"Aquamarine? That's a birth stone, right?" Sam queried, glad of a distraction from his seething thoughts.

"It's my birthstone," Marie, the hippy waitress informed him. "Aquamarine has all sorts of cool mystic properties," she sashayed behind the counter and pulled out a very new age looking book and slid it in front of him, flicking it open to the section on Aquamarine like a religious zealot sharing a bible verse.

Sam clenched his jaw, and tried not to show his disdain for the new-aged crap that sold itself as magic. Reminded himself that fluffy, crackpot, hippy, crystal magic had never been the cause of a string of dead bodies.  
It was harmless. He’d sat here fuming for hours, ordering nothing but a single cup of coffee. So, it was probably a really good idea to play along, be a nice, interested rube so Marie the waitress didn’t decide to show him the door.  
Sam picked up the book.

 

oooooooooooooooooooooOoooooooooooooooooooooo

 **Introduction to the Meaning and Uses of Aquamarine**  

Aquamarine evokes the purity of crystalline waters, and the exhilaration and relaxation of the sea. It is calming, soothing, and cleansing, and inspires truth, trust and letting go. In ancient lore, Aquamarine was believed to be the treasure of mermaids, and was used by sailors as a talisman of good luck, fearlessness and protection. It was also considered a stone of eternal youth and happiness. [Simmons, 49] Today it protects all who travel by, over, or near water, and opens the channels of clear and heartfelt communication.  
The name Aquamarine comes from the Latin aqua marinus, meaning "water of the sea," and refers to its sparkling ocean-like color. The pale blue, transparent crystal is a member of the Beryl family. Its color, sometimes bluish green, is caused by iron oxides within the chemical makeup of the stone. Ancient seers considered it to be under the influence of the moon, an orb exerting very great magnetic influence. Present day supporters of crystal-gazing suggest that when using an Aquamarine to view coming events, do so when the moon is increasing. The magnetism of the moon on the included iron oxides will strengthen the stone's forecasting ability.  
Aquamarine embodies all things connected to the sea, as well as those things relating to Heaven reflected on the surface of the water. It becomes a mirror, reflecting itself indefinitely, making it possible to discover hidden meanings of reality. As a stone of symmetries, it is conducive for meditation and revelation, a stone of prophets, shamans, healers, and mystics. It also allows us to explore the darkest depths of our souls, face to face with ourselves, and with others. [Megemont, 31-32]  
Aquamarine is the blue variety of Beryl, though the Beryl family forms in other colors used as gems, such as green Emerald, yellow Heliodor and Golden Beryl, pink Morganite, Red Beryl or Bixbite, and the colorless variety, Goshenite.

 

**Aquamarine Uses and Purposes - Overview**

Associated with the Throat chakra, Aquamarine helps overcome the fear of speaking, and is an excellent stone for teachers and presenters of all types. It relaxes speakers to a stage of consciousness in which they are fully aware of their own truths, wisdom and feelings, and able to articulate them with clarity and conviction. It also allows one to speak clearly and without anger in difficult situations. [Simmons, 49][Ahsian, 50]  
Aquamarine accelerates the intellectual reasoning processes and enhances the ability for rapid response. It makes one unconquerable through learning, not only about the physical world, but about oneself. [Melody, 128] It bestows perseverance, discipline and light heartedness. [Gienger, 16]  
Aquamarine encourages the ideal of service to the world and to the development of a humanity attuned to healing. It emits a gentle and compassionate energy, promoting moderation and responsibility for ones' actions. It inspires judgmental people to be more tolerant, and helps those overwhelmed by responsibility to find order. [Melody, 129][Hall, 68]  
A stone of natural justice, Aquamarine utilizes compromise and negotiation, and gives quiet courage and clear reasoned words in confrontational situations. Pass Aquamarine over any written complaints you receive or before you send any out, wear or carry Aquamarine when visiting your child's school because of a complaint, or when resolving neighborhood disputes over parking or boundaries. [Eason, 218]  
As a travel crystal, greenish blue Aquamarine protects those who journey by sea, alleviating the fear of water, and guards those involved in any long-haul travel such as flying or driving long distances. [Eason, 42] It is a good stone for learning to swim. [Eason, 218]  
As a love crystal, pale blue Aquamarine encourages a lover to return, helps two people with different lifestyles to live together in harmony, and reduces the effects of sensitive issues that cause quarrels. [Eason, 43] Aquamarine is often given as a love token or eternity ring and increases commitment and fidelity "as long as the waters of the earth flow." [Eason, 218]

**Aquamarine Healing Therapies - Overview**

(Please note: This information is no substitute for consulting a health care professional. All information contained on this web site, including information relating to medical and health conditions, products and treatments, is for informational purposes only. Please see your doctor or health care professional before starting any alternative treatments, diets, supplements or exercise programs.)

**Aquamarine Physical Healing Energy**

Aquamarine is a stone of breath, the respiratory tract, and the lungs. It can heal sinus conditions and frequent coughing, and is effective for hay fever and other chronic allergies. [Megemont, 32][Gienger, 16] It relieves colds and bronchitis. [Eason, 218]  
Aquamarine is a cooling stone, countering infections and useful for laryngitis, strep throat or a sore throat. [Ahsian, 50] It harmonizes the pituitary and thyroid glands, regulating hormones and growth. [Hall, 68][Gienger, 16] It is beneficial for teeth and gum problems. [Eason, 218]  
It supports the healing of inflammatory diseases of all kinds, and is soothing to eczema, hives, rosacea and psoriasis. It may also help prevent outbreaks of herpes. [Ahsian, 50] Some skin diseases caused by allergies may be cured by Aquamarine, and can complement the treatment for shingles. [Megemont, 32]  
Tired eyes and some vision problems can be relieved if Aquamarine is placed on the eyelids for 20 minutes every night. Placed on the solar plexus, it will calm nervous spasms. [Megemont, 32]

**Aquamarine Emotional Healing Energy **  
****

Aquamarine is a Water element stone, powerful for cleansing the emotional body and opening communication. Its gentle energy brings emotional patterns to the surface and assists in understanding the reason for holding onto old thoughts or patterns that are limiting forward motion. It also identifies where ego is causing one to overreact, assume a victim/abuser role, manipulate others, or martyr oneself. By consciously releasing these patterns, it allows for better relationships, love and compassion. [Ashian, 50]  
Aquamarine helps balance excessive anger or fear, and clears past emotional, physical or verbal abuse. It is an excellent stone for children who have been through traumatic situations and are acting out aggressively or who have disassociated from their emotional bodies. [Ahsian, 50] It heals the effects of over-judgmental parents who set impossible standards, and panic attacks lingering from guilt and inadequacy into adulthood. [Eason, 218]  
Aquamarine is useful for moving through transition and change, its cleansing energy removing resistance and helping one overcome fear of the unknown. It helps not only in the release of emotional baggage, but the clearing out of physical items and clutter. [Ahsian, 50]

   
**Aquamarine Chakra Healing and Balancing Energy**

Aquamarine is perhaps the strongest stone for clearing and activating the Throat Chakra. It stimulates energy from the heart to the throat, allowing one's deepest and heartfelt truth to be communicated. [Ahsian, 50]  
The Throat Chakra is the voice of the body, a pressure valve that allows the energy from the other chakras to be expressed. If it is blocked or out of balance, it can affect the health of the other chakras. In balance, it allows for the expression of what we think and what we feel. We can communicate our ideas, beliefs, and emotions. When the throat chakra is in balance and open, we can bring our personal truth out into the world. We have an easy flow of energy within the body and spirit. The energy that springs upward from the lower chakras can continue its path enabling free expression and natural release.

   
**Aquamarine Spiritual Energy**

  
Aquamarine is a stone of empowerment, for men and women alike. It helps in the realization that not all power comes from force. There is also power in aligning with the yielding, resilient vitality of life, and in promoting truthful and compassionate communication. It lends women the courage to express their inner knowing and enhances their intuitive abilities, and helps dispel the emotional numbness and difficulty men sometimes experience in communicating their feelings. [Simmons, 49]  
Aquamarine can be used as a gateway crystal to the Divine Feminine, both within the self, and in Her outer manifestations. [Simmons, 49]

 

oooooooooooooooooooOoooooooooooooooooooooo

 

Looking up from the book Sam smiled at the waitress nervously.  
"That was actually pretty interesting," he murmured feeling a little put upon. "I’ve never really been interested in the powers of crystals, didn’t think there was anything real to it.....” The woman looked vaguely disappointed, ”… Uh but... maybe there is. Aquamarine sounds like something sorta useful to have.” He offered quickly, with an ingratiating smile and gripped the small fragment of stone more tightly in his hand.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The information on Aquamarine comes from a website called crystalvaults.com, I quite literally cut and pasted.  
> Me personally I don’t believe in any of that crystals crap; being a scientist and all. But it’s kind of interesting and Aquamarine is actually my birthstone ... so you know. The info’s sort of cool.
> 
> After all, not being factual should never be sufficient reason to reject a great plot device in the supernatural world, especially when it washes up at our feet.  
> Have you spotted it yet?  
> What’s our monster of the week Ladies (and gentlemen?)?  
> Toss me a guess.  
> I’m overwhelmed by everyone’s concern for my mental health by the way.... I mean that’s it isn’t it? You’re all just trying to help me overcome my addiction to feedback right?...  
> -rolls eyes and sighs-  
> Of course I believe that, just like I believe my teenagers don’t put their laundry out to save me the effort of washing, drying and folding it.  
> Seriously though thanks for joining or hanging in there and thanks for the Kudos.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

 

Dean was beginning to get frantic, time was crawling, then leaping on, and still he hadn't seen or heard from Sam.

He couldn’t find any useful intel on Samantha either. Dean was beginning to wonder if the woman lived in the sea or under a rock.

The sickening fear that he’d tried to ignore for hours was getting louder, more strident. What if Sammy was somewhere getting his brains screwed out, with the siren whispering murderous sweet nothings in his ear.  
Worry screamed like an air raid siren through his brain at the thought, making his hands feel shaky.

Dean clenched his fists tight to stop the tremors, pounded them against the steering wheel with a snarl of frustration.

"Think, damn it!"

Then it occurred to him, there were two people that had to know Samantha better than the clueless the bar staff and owner of the Sloppy Tuna. The two girls he'd given a ride home the night before.

……

It was a process of elimination, Dean’s memories from the night before were fractured and vague, he'd just followed the girl’s directions from the beach.

But, finally he found his way back to the little redhead’s door, knocked and waited impatiently.

"Hi," he favored her with one of his killer smiles. "Do you remember me?"

The girl, (Shelly he remembered her name belatedly,) looked surprised and hopeful, seeing him again.

Then more surprised when he flashed his FBI badge.

"Yeah, thanks for the ride home last night, are you…” she glanced at his badge nervously and looked crestfallen, “umm here on business?”

"Yeah. Though it’s always a pleasure seein’ someone as pretty as you,” he threw the girl a careless bone, offering her another smile, while inwardly chaffing at the little dance. wanted to just pick the girl up and shake her until the information he needed fell out.

"Oh well… please come in, then… Agent." Shelly’s smile brightened as she ushered him inside.

Dean didn’t bother to sit. “What I'm here for, work wise, is about Samantha Agua and the man that she was with last night. We have reason to believe they're in danger, we’re trying to track her down... which is proving difficult. How well do you know Samantha?"

"Well, to be honest, not that well," the words plunged Dean into despair. "She's always been sort of …. distant, only been here in town a short while. She doesn’t even have a phone.”

"So, you wouldn't know how or where I can get a hold of her?"

"Oh, well yeah. She lives out in a beach batch along the coast. My friend Amy and I gave her a lift home one time after that old drunk - Lenny, started following her round trying to give her tacky jewelry.

Wait you’re not worried about him are you? I mean Lenny’s not all there some of the time, but mostly he’s just kind of sad.”

"I can’t talk about the case, Ma’am. But no, it’s not a local matter. It’s pretty urgent, can you give me her address?"

"Sure," The redhead wrote down the address, along with directions and then her own name and number.

“Will Samantha be OK?" Shelly fluttered, fixing him with large brown eyes.

"We’re hoping it's just precautionary,” he cleared his throat and gave her a look that implied he was telling her something he shouldn’t. “She has a restraining order out against an ex, a nasty piece of work... he escaped from prison." Dean fabricated, laying the ground work to explain any disappearances down the track.

"Oh... well…” Shelly looked solemn, “that explains a bit."

Dean shot her another smile and waved the paper. "Well… I better get on, thanks for the info…All the info.” He let his voice drop low and warm, like dark chocolate, watched her cheeks flush.  
“Better go check up on Samantha...” And he was out the door.

…..

The flirty smile dropped off the Hunter’s face as soon as the door closed.  
Sliding his hand up, he fingered the hilt of the bronze dagger and strode back to the impala.

Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam his brother’s name thudded steadily inside Dean’s head, keeping time with his heartbeat as he started the impala and accelerated away from the curb.

…ooo0ooo…

The beach batch was fairly close to town, isolated down a winding gravel side road.  
Dean would have missed it completely, if it wasn't for the girl’s meticulous directions. The Hunter spared a moment to be profoundly grateful he'd given the two girls a ride home the night before, instead of leaving them on the beach.

Dean left the impala behind some scrubby trees. Checked the dagger and his gun, changed out of his fed suit, then made his way cautiously through the scrub until the house was in sight.

….

The place was just a two-room wooden thing, the kind of place a group of rich college students would rent on Mummy’s and Daddy’s dime over summer break, spend a week by the ocean, drinking beer, partying and getting laid.

There was no car, just a beat up looking bike leaning against the side wall.

From where Dean crouched, binoculars trained on it, he could make out Samantha just sitting at a wooden table inside the front room. Her back was to him she was staring at something in front of her.

Sam was nowhere to be seen, but Dean was guessing his little brother was probably stashed in the bedroom round back, out of sight. Maybe he was shackled to the bed or something.  
So, not what Dean had been hoping for when his little brother fixed his ridiculous puppy-dog eyes on the blonde, Jessica look-a-like.

Moving as cautiously as a cat, Dean stalked closer.

As he silently eased open the door and slid through, the Hunter tightened his grip round bronze dagger’s hilt, held it hidden behind his back.

Samantha turned and smiled, rose to her feet gracefully.

"Ahh, Dean… what a lovely surprise!  
I was just wondering what you were up to," she purred looking completely unsurprising by his arrival.

"Where's my brother? What have you done with him, you bitch?!” He demanded in a snarl, moving cautiously closer.

"Language!" The woman tutted and rolled her eyes. "I have no idea where that useless brother of yours is, Dean. Why would I care. Not when I've got you.”

Dean shifted uneasily. "If you’ve done anything to Sam siren lady, I swear to god...!"

"Oh?" The blue eyes held a modicum of surprise, "you think I'm a siren?" Her laughter tinkled like bells.

"Course you are, you’re also a murdering bitch – gonna be a dead murdering bitch...”

A coolly amused smile graced the pretty face. "So… you're a Hunter? How lovely.... Not a very good one, obviously.... but still, I might enjoy expanding your education a bit. A girl gets lonely with no one to talk to."

Dean launched himself forward to plunge the bronze dagger into her heart.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Dean launched himself forward and plunged the bronze dagger into Samantha’s chest, aiming for the skank’s heart.

He didn’t even get a chance to draw breath before she back handed him away, across the room as if he was a kid, the dagger had no effect.

His head connected solidly with the wall.

The last thing Dean saw, before blackness sucked him away, was the blonde casually pull the blade from her chest and run her pale tongue contemplatively down the bronze edge.

…ooo0ooo…

Sam huffed and ran his fingers through his hair. He needed to get over himself.  
Sure, he was mad at Dean, but they still had a job to do.

The case comes first, the other stuff works around it or gets shelved; it was a rule John Winchester had drummed into them.

Sam shook his head, thinking of his father.

Dean was a world class jerk at times, but he, Sam, could be the bigger man. He had 3 inches on Dean, after all.

Fingering the sliver of aquamarine in his hand, Sam considered the things he'd read in Marie’s book. Most of the mystical properties of crystals were (probably) a bunch of wishful thinking, but it was ironic.  
Seemed there was a need for 'helping two people with different lifestyles to live together in harmony,’ and ‘reducing the effects of sensitive issues that cause quarrels.'

Sam blew out a sarcastic breath. Loading a shotgun shell with bits of blue stone and shooting Dean in the ass with it might help dispel his brother’s emotional numbness, it’d definitely help Sam, communicate his feelings!

..............

When Sam finally returned to the motel, neither Dean nor the impala were there.

To be honest that was probably a good thing, Sam wasn't sure he wanted to look at his brother yet.

The whole thing cut too deep.

Sam eyed the wall where he’d punched the hole; and noted that Dean had cleaned his blood off the floor and the coffee off the wall.

A tiny flicker of regret found its way through Sam’s simmering brain.  
Dean spent so much of his life, cleaning up his messes…

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, considered the craters in the wall again.

Suddenly, the rage he'd felt….. seemed overblown. Excessive to the situation.

Samantha wasn't Jess, she was just some girl from a bar, that looked similar.  
He'd wanted to seriously hurt his brother, just because some girl he didn’t even know chose Dean instead?  
Sam blinked a few times, and looked down at his battered hands in dismay, for the first time feeling how they throbbed and ached.

If Dean was here he'd be scolding and fussing over them, making sure nothing was broken. Dean would call him an idiot, but his hands were always gentle in those moments.

Sam bit his lip, remembering the sensation of his fist smashing into his brother’s jaw, the ambushed look of shock in his big brothers eyes.

………..

Wincing, Sam immersed his battered hands in the motel sink full of hot water and Epson-salts to clean them.  
Drew them out and scrubbed gingerly at the caked scabs and bruises under the tap.  
Frowning, he rubbed at the three small slices on the back of his hand working soap into them, turned his hand over and examined another small cut across the lifeline on his palm.

 

Watching the dirty water swirl down the drain, he dried his hands and decided to forgo any attempts with bandages for now.  
His mind turned to the case, first he'd check emails, then maybe go over some of the files he hadn't got to yet.

……………

Dean had been at his laptop again. Sam stifled a new wave of resentment, and hoped he wasn’t about to stumble onto one of Dean’s favored porn sites.

Thankfully it looked like Dean had just been checking case emails.

The coroner, Stephanie Horowitz, had finally gotten the extra lab results and forwarded them on.

Lots of inflammatory markers and high oxytosin levels.  
Hmmm … the oxytocin levels weren’t as high as in that Siren case they'd worked, but they didn't seem natural either. Which probably made them relevant to the case.

Sam went to run his hands through his hair, then thought better of it; as he considered the facts they had on the case. Drownings, storms, something in the water with arms and hands, oxytocin.

His fingers flew over the keys as he found the zone and forgot the pain in his hands, began to realize where the trail led.

"A mermaid? Seriously!?”

Well, that was something they hadn’t run across before.  
Apparently another first.

Another thing, (along with angels), that could come out of the 'imaginary cute stories for kids' category, and now fell, firmly in the ‘Huge pain in the ass,’ category.

Somehow Sam didn't think this mermaid, would much resemble The Little Mermaid, from the 1989 animated Disney movie.

A half smile tugged up the side of his mouth, at a random memory from his childhood : Dean singing a much dirtier version of one of the songs from the film. Dean being Dean, even at 13, his version of the song “Kiss the girl,” was much dirtier.

Another random flash, of a 13 year old Dean, all puffed up with newly minted teenage bravado leering in his best worldly manner, and telling his little brother that Ariel was hot.

Thinking of Dean, Sam pulled out his phone.  
Realized belatedly his phone had been off the entire time, Sam turned it back on.

26 missed calls from Dean.

Dialing voice mail, he sighed wearily.

With each message the confusion and worry in Deans voice deepened.

"Damn it Sam! I'm getting you a GPS tracking collar, answer your frickin’ phone already, Please man! Samantha's a siren." Dean’s final message was just shy of blind panic.

Dean was wrong.

Sam looked down at the cuts on the back of his hand with a sinking feeling, he realized where he'd seem the marks before.

On the hands of the drowning victims.  
Wrapping his fingers from the other hand around the lacerated one, he matched his pointer, middle and ring finger to the cuts on the back of his hand and his thumb to the small cut through his life line.

He remembered Samantha taking his hand, just like that, to lead him away, alone, down the beach.

Dean was half right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to CalieAnder, Dmoorepebbles, Archivist_of_Awesome, archea2, EmptyWithout, anya_ackles, BACKstr33tgurl1999, rlt4557, Deeney69, Semiautomaticscreen, Annabelle_W, my_shangri_la, palomacal, and deandeandean as well as the 24 guests who left kudos.  
> Drop me a comment sometime guys, and thanks for reading.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter** **19**

Dean woke grudgingly. The pounding in his head and his prone position, on something that felt like a bed made him uncertain if he was suffering from a hangover or a concussion. Until, that was, he tried to rub his crusted eyes, and found he couldn’t lift his hand.

From the feel of it he was lying on a bed, tied to it.

 

There were plenty of occasions where he’d woken to find himself tied up with a pounding head in the past. Granted some of those occasions had involved copious amounts of alcohol and an adventurous companion of the feminine persuasion. But for the most part, waking up with a splitting skull to find himself tied up, was a bad, bad sign.

Stalling his breath, he listened intently, trying to work out if he was alone.

The room was still.

Cracking his gummy eyelids a fraction, he surveyed what he could of the room, without making it obvious he was awake.  
  
The room was sparsely furnished, wood panelled. A bedroom containing only a battered chest of draws, the bed he was on, and a wooden chair. There was no sign of Sam or Samantha.

Was Sam even here?

"I have no idea where that useless brother of yours is, why would I care, when I've got you?” The memory of Samantha's words whirled jarringly around Dean’s throbbing skull. In hindsight, the contempt in her tone seemed genuine.

Completely bizarre, who'd want him in preference to Sammy?

In Dean’s opinion, the only things he beat his brother at, were the things Sam couldn't be bothered trying to master - though he'd never admit that to Sam.  
  
What was the bitch anyway?

He'd plunged that dagger into her heart and she hadn't missed a beat. Maybe he had it wrong, maybe Sammy hadn't been under the spell of her song after all.

Wait, she said she wasn’t a siren.

Damn! He'd gone off half-cocked and what had it got him?

Tied to a bed.

Still… tied up meant she wanted to keep him alive, for now. If she was the thing that ripped the vic that turned up on Plum Island apart, he was lucky she’d only tossed him into a wall.

Dean rolled his head to the side, trying to see what he was dealing with. The movement brought a whole new world of hurt stampeding through his abused skull. Breathing carefully past the nauseating pain and the urge to hurl, Dean checked his wrists.

_Frickin' cable ties!_

One around each wrist so tight they cut into the flesh, and another looped through, then around the solid cast iron bed frame. His hands were secured too far apart, to reach each other. He tried to shift his feet and realised his ankles must be secured similarly.

_Why'd it have to be damn cable ties?_

Rope or hand cuffs you could get some wiggle room with, the only way to get cable ties off, once they were on was to cut the sonofabitches. Trying to get through the titanium based plastic with whatever you could get ahold of took forever, and you inevitably ended up cutting yourself as much as the damn things.

In Dean’s estimation, cable ties were the work of something even more evil than Lucifer.

Just then, the bedroom door opened.  
Dean played possum, trying to breath slow and even, like he was still unconscious, hoped that his captor would think he was still out to it.

"Don't bother Dean, I know you're conscious.”

At Samantha's cool words, Dean let out an irritated breath, opened his eyes and glared.

Drawing the wooden chair up beside the head of the bed, she seated herself and studied him. She had the bronze dagger clenched loosely in one hand and looked down at it thoughtfully, then raised her eyes to meet his again.

"I find myself rather curious about you, Dean," she twitched the knife back and forth, "…and your brother."

"Where’s Sam!” He demanded angrily.

Raising the dagger, the blonde licked along the flat edge of the bronze blade.

"Sadly, I let your brother slip through my fingers. It was the state of his soul, you see. Totally shredded, stuck back together again with metaphysical chewing gum.  
Useless for my purposes."  
Again, she licked at the blade, "...and yet, his blood tastes strangely good. Addictive even.... Your brother is a conundrum, he tastes human, and yet not... and the state of his soul, how is he even alive like that? – How is he walking around?.... It defies my understanding."

Dean narrowed his eyes, jaw clenched, hated the way the psychopathic blonde -whatever- was talking about Sam.  
He glared at her and jerked his arms against his bonds with a frustrated snarl.

"And then there's you!" Samantha continued un-phased, cold blue eyes narrowed in contemplation. "Quite frankly, Dean. I'm not sure if you're human either, your soul’s intact.... and yet it's …more... like you've got hundreds, no, thousands of other souls inside you. Not the humans themselves, just the ~ aftertaste of the energy." She gave a breathy laugh, "I can feel it, and, Oh God, you're amazing!" She licked her lips and studied him avidly.

"Sweetheart, every woman that gets me into bed says that," He drawled by way of reply , gave her a cocky smirk. "But enough about me, tell me about you, darlin'. Tell me about your family and where you grew up, even monster chicks dig a guy who listens, right?"

"Oh, very subtle hunter boy, you're still trying to work out what I am?"

Dean leveled another smile. "Come on honey, you said you wantedta educate me? Come on over, maybe I can teach you a lesson of my own. I'll show you I'm a man, not a boy."

"Why not?" She asked herself, and lent forward, ran a hand through his hair, trailed sharp nails over the tacky patch where his head hurt worst. The Hunter jerked his head away, then regretted it, glared at her through the pain and nausea.

 

"I'm a Mermaid.” Samantha licked her fingers and ran a hand through her hair, almost seemed to preen before him.

  
“We are practically immortal, but we don't have souls. Having no soul, we can't breed and there's no afterlife for us. There aren't many of us left, but that's fine, we've never really liked our own kind. Well… It was fine, until the sun began to die, but when the sand started running through the hourglass towards the end... I found I didn't want to end." The mermaid pursed her lips. "So I did something. There's a way we can obtain a soul, we can take it from one of you, if we leave the sea… and if you love us. But it starts another timer, and once you start the process you can't go back. Even if the bloody sun magically heals itself," she spat the last words in irritation, "and it's just not working! All of the men I've tried, are too weak, too puny. But you, you Dean, should suit my purposes admirably .... You might even have enough left over to keep breathing." She patted his cheek and smiled down at him sunnily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I hope that explains thing a bit *rueful grin* Do you think Dean oughta tell Samantha it was him and his brother that broke and then fixed the sun? Winchester luck eh? Or is it karma coming to bite them in the ass? Actions have consequences.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

The sun was beginning to set.  
Sam sat in the car he’d stolen from a bungalow with knee high weeds and an overflowing letterbox, and gazed out at the sunset. The sinking sun turned the ocean and sky to fire and blood, and all he could do was watch with exhausted anxious eyes, seeing none of the beauty before him.

He’d spent hours trying to find Dean and following every lead he could think of to track down Samantha.  
For most of that search he'd been walking in his brother's footsteps.  
But now, all his leads were tapped out, and his brother and the impala were still missing.

Samantha was nowhere to be found, and Sam was sure in his gut that she had Dean.

What if it was too late? Sam eyed the setting sun with dread. What if, somewhere just out of sight, Samantha was leading his big brother into the ocean?

Sam let out a shaky breath that sounded more like a moan in the small cars confined interior.

He picked up his cell again and stared at it, knew there was no point calling Cas. The enochian warding on Dean’s ribs would stop any attempts in that direction, besides without wings, Cas was just too far away to help.  
Sam laid his phone down on the passenger seat again, and buried his face in his hands, exhaling harsh breaths.

Briefly, his mind went to his time as Toni Bevelle’s captive, it was usually Dean doing the frantic searching for a missing brother; Sam found himself wishing for that role now. The missing, not the seeker.  
It was easier to simply endure and wait, even if they took a blow torch to you. (Though in the beginning with Toni, there’d been part of him that was hoping and waiting for them to push the torture too far— it was still a form of waiting for Dean to find him.) Easier than this responsibility, this fear of not being enough to get the job done …. this burden was so much harder to carry.

What if he couldn't find Dean in time?  
This was his fault! How often had he let some bitch monster in? How often had he thought he was soo smart, had everything figured out, then ended up causing some kind of almighty screwup?  
It was always the people he loved that payed for his arrogance.  
Sometimes it seemed he was cursed to burn everything he cared about.

What if this time Dean didn't make it?

It'd been years; but memories of that repeating Tuesday, in Broward county's mystery spot, watching Dean die over and over — Then that Wednesday with no reset, months of living in a world without Dean, where his only companion had been revenge ...  
By then he’d got it, that there was nothing else left that wasn’t going through the motions, just like for Dad in a world without Mom. The thought floated to the surface like a drowned corpse, that hard to swallow knowledge he thought he’d weighted down and sunk deep enough for it to never see the light of day again.  
He's moved on from being that Sam, really, he has… but he hasn't, and that Asia song still brings him out in a cold sweat.

So many times, he's faced his brother’s death. All his life really, but still, he isn't immune to it.

Not like this! It was a prayer. Though, who he was praying to, he couldn't say.

Sam raked battered hands through his hair, tugging and using the pain to steady himself while he tried to focus his exhausted mind enough to think of what to do next.

The case, there was a clue there, if he could just find it, he could feel it, like brushing your thumb over a hidden splinter.

His stomach grumbled, the sound of it was as startling as a werewolf’s snarl in the silent car. Reminding him that he hadn't eaten since yesterday.  
A wry smile twisted his mouth. That would never happen if Dean were here...The smile slid off his face.

Dean and food, he'd read somewhere that adults who suffered deprivation in childhood often came across as gluttons, never turned down an opportunity to eat, subliminally uncertain when the next chance to eat would come. He remembered reading that, and becoming aware of Dean as someone both larger and smaller than the carefully maintained heroic figure he presented his little brother.

They’ve both gotten used to being hungry as kids, skipping meals, Dean especially. Sam’s not sure how often he’d gone hungry with a grin and a lie, so his little brother could eat.  
Because it was ‘his responsibility’ to look out for Sam, all part of their screwed-up childhood.

Sam swallowed thickly and ground his fists into his eyes, there were so many things he'd never thanked Dean for.

Shit, he really needed to stop thinking, or at least think about something useful. He envied his brothers ability to live in the moment, to just act instead of over-thinking every-damn-thing.

Still, thinking a bit more might have kept Dean out of this situation.

Starting the car again, Sam wondered where Dean would have gotten the siren victim’s blood to coat the bronze dagger with, then remembered how Dean had cleaned his blood off the motel floor.  
"Necessity an' invention Sammy, necessity an' invention," the echo of his brother’s voice came to him along with a flashing memory of that Dean Winchester shit-eating grin.

Then, it came, a conversation about local legends and rumors with the kid Scott from the volunteer Montauk fire Department.

"We locals don't give it any more credence than Lenny Nicole's drunken stories about how he saw a mermaid..."

It wasn't much but it was a lead.

…ooo0ooo…

The man that opened the door was in his 60’s with receding patchy grey hair and all the cardinal signs of a man attempting to drown himself in the bottle.  
Sam felt a twinge of guilt as he held up the bottle of whiskey, the price of their meeting.

"Mr Nicole, I'm Simon West, we spoke on the phone, I'm a research assistant into folk-law out of New York University. I hear you have a modern mermaid tale, I Uh…would love to hear it." He shot the man earnest puppy dog eyes, but he needn't have bothered, the man ushered him inside, eyes homed in on the bottle in Sam’s hands with an anxious need.

The small flat was a dingy shambles, dirty dishes stubbed out cigarettes and empty bottles covered every surface of the small kitchenette. Dirty clothes and old newspapers were strewn over the sagging threadbare sofa and single arm chair. The air held the soaked in stink of old cigarettes and the acrid funk of alcoholic body oder. An old-style CRT TV crouched in one corner, crowned with an overflowing ashtray and showing more static than picture.

Sam eyed his surroundings and tried to hide his distaste, a certain level of male slobbishness and alcoholism was something he took in his stride, he’d been a student once, was a hunter.  
But this… unfocused squalor, if this was old age, maybe dying bloody wasn't so bad.

Lenny grabbed a dirty coffee cup from the overflowing sink and filled it with whiskey. Lifted the bottle Sam had brought, and waved another dirty mug at Sam.

Trying to hide his horror, Sam demurred with a shake of his head. The man shrugged and drained most of his cup in one draft then sat down in the sagging armchair, opposite where Sam perched uneasily on the sofa.

"That's good stuff," The old man breathed in appreciation. "No one believes me, not about the mermaid, not about any of it. I'm just a crazy drunk to them."

Sam didn’t offer an opinion on that, he was too desperate.  
"Mr Nicole, belief isn’t what this is about. Your story is research. I would be incredibly grateful if you’d share it with me."

The man nodded, possibly as glad of an audience as he had been for the whiskey and launched into his tale.

..................

"So, this woman, the singer from the bar. That you claim is a mermaid. You offered her aquamarine jewelry thinking that she could grant you a wish?" Sam clarified.

Lenny looked abashed, "I know it sounds nuts, but I saw a movie ‘bout mermaids once and it said they could grant wishes... I just wanted my wife back, she was everything to me." The old drunk looked at Sam with beseeching eyes.

"I take it the young lady denied she was a mermaid?”

Lenny nodded and stared down at his hands.

“There is definitely is mythology linked to mermaids granting wishes,” Sam offered. Like jinn, he added silently to himself, “but like most wish for fulfillment myths, things in those story's usually go sour fast.”

"Yeah...she denied it. Took my aquamarine though, then made a big fuss and threatened to call the cops on me," Lenny looked uncomfortable, and Sam figured the man and the local police were already on first name basis.  
"As for wishes, you’re right.” The old man admitted and refilled his mug. “I followed her home — watched her, saw her with one of the guys that turned up drowned. Not that anyone would believe me.... I’m just a drunk, crazy, old man..." Lenny scowled at the bottle beside him.

Sam’s heart began drumming in his ears at mention of the drowning victims and Lenny having followed Samantha home.

“Can you tell me where I can find her?" Giving up on subterfuge, Sam took the plunge. "PLEASE! I uh…lied to you, this isn’t just folk law research ….. She's got my brother, we came here to investigate the drownings and now he's missing." Sam’s voice came out as a breathless rush of urgency.

Old man Nicole stared at him for a moment. “Yeah,” he answered finally, “I can help you. Maybe we're both crazy, but if we aren't, I guess it's my civic duty," the old man cracked a yellow toothed smile at Sam.

It was the most beautiful thing Sam had ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me a comment if you enjoyed what you’ve read so far.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Deans head swum and his heartbeat pounded in his ears.  
God! This had to make the list of the of the most awful things he'd ever been through— but it felt amazing, and despite himself he was beginning to want it.

The blonde woman sat on the bed next to him again, and trailed a cool hand down his now naked chest, leaving a trail of heat and goosebumps in its wake.

Looking up at that deceptively gorgeous face, Dean swallowed thickly.

  
Fought the nascent heat that tightened low in his gut, as he watch the mermaid lean nearer, the spill of her blonde hair fell forward to caress over his bare skin, her stupidly perfect lips parted, and she leaned in to take another kiss.

A tear spilled and trailed down his cheek, soaking into the pillow, as he forced himself to make the token resistance.

Tried to turn away.

It didn't do any good, she had him tied down, half naked and vulnerable; she was so inhumanly strong.

Her hands forced his face to hers again, easily.

Another poisoned kiss, that made his muscles tremble and blood sing, that made him want more.

He found himself whimpering in the back of his throat. He'd like to say the sound was distress, pain, or anger … or basically anything else, but he couldn't kid himself.

It was need.

_Fuck! I’m so screwed._

A moment of clear thought twisted a wry smile into his mouth.

_Nope, real problem, is I wanna be screwed._

A cynical bark of laughter escaped him.

His inexplicable laughter made the mermaid jerk back in surprise.

She frowned down at him in consternation, uncertain what to make of it.

"Dean, you are definitely, one of a kind," she trilled. "I've never had a man resist me this long. You seem to have superhuman self-control."

Laughter bubbled from Dean’s throat again, and it felt good in a whole other way.

"Don't you dare tell Sammy that, he thinks I'd do anything female in the tri state area.... maybe that's the problem, you ain't female, are you? You’re just some soulless fish."

It was so hard forcing the words out, so hard...

Dean began to giggle like an idiot, despite or maybe because of the situation.

_So hard, yeah, I’m that too._

 

Samantha slapped him, enough force behind the blow to make his vision grey out, but the shock helped dissipate some of his arousal.

When he could focus again she was standing across the room glaring at him.

A small victory.

"I see you're into the kinky stuff, Sweetheart. How 'bout we change places an’ I tie _you_ to the bed? We can pretend you're caught in a driftnet and I’ll cut you free... promise to _only slip a few times_."

She strode back across the room and raked her nails down his exposed chest, blood bloomed sluggishly from the scratches. Holding him down casually she ran her cold tongue over the wounds.

At the touch of her mouth on the open wounds an inarticulate cry forced its way past his clenched jaw, left him gasping.

Samantha's laughter was mocking.

She gripped his jaw roughly then stepped back and favored him with a cutting smile, "I know you want me. You can't deny it."

"Well yeah, can’t hide something that magnificent.” He agreed nodding down at the evidence straining against the denim of his jeans, tried to keep the quaver out of his voice.  
"But, you know what? I'd rather some pie, love me some pie."

The mermaid hissed, then gave a small shriek of frustration and stormed out of the room.

Dean lay panting on the bed.

Aching.

Yeah, he was so screwed! And he wasn't sure he could keep it up.

Rolling his face into the mattress, he groaned painfully at the double entendre of both the thoughts.

Imagined Sammy tossing him a bitch-face.

Sam was right.

His dirty mind quite possibly would be the death of him.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Sam had burned up his minutes, contacting every hunter he knew, no one had dealt with a mermaid before, or knew how to kill one.

Most laughed at him.

The Men of letters files weren't much help either, the only brief mentions of them were nothing but conjecture. He’d even researched Aquamarine; there was a surprising amount of lore concerning the gem, one Marie’s book hadn’t mentioned, was that aquamarine had been prized by 13th Century European nobility for it’s ability to combat poisoning, but there was no explanation of why Mermaids had a fascination with the stone.

He hated going in blind.

But there wasn't much he could do, she had Dean, and every moment he wasted could be the difference between a hunter’s pyre and bitching out his brother for going off half cocked.

Seeing the impala, gleaming darkly in the moonlight, half concealed behind some scrubby bushes, Sam let out a breath. Felt something loosen a fraction in his chest.

Pulling the stolen car in beside the love of his brother’s life, Sam slid out.

There was a feeling of home as Sam ran his hand down the old cars cool flank.

"Hey girl, good to see you." he murmured, popped the Impala’s trunk to survey the weapons.

The only things missing were a pair of binoculars, Dean’s Colt 1911 and the bronze dagger.  
Sam eyed his brothers treasured grenade launcher thoughtfully, before starting to arm himself in a through, and sensible fashion.

From what Lenny had told him, Samantha's place was about a mile ahead, within the sight of the ocean.

…..

Geared up and ready to go, Sam transferred the sliver of aquamarine from the pocket of his jacket into his mouth; tucked between his cheek and his teeth. Nobility in 13th Century probably knew nothing. But then again, those people believed in mermaids and demons. Sometimes it payed to listen to outdated beliefs.

…ooo0ooo…

Samantha had been gone a fair while now, and Dean found his head pounding and his eyesight swimming in a familiar way.  
Gritting his teeth and wanting to swear against the increasing pain, Dean worked the cable ties binding his wrists back and forth steadily.

There were no rough spots on the frame and no flex room, he guessed he could probably keep doing this for the next 20 years with very little effect, he'd probably just wear through his flesh and bleed out before the fricking cable ties showed the slightest scuff.  
But it was something to do, and the pain from his abused wrists helped clear the clamor of the mermaid poison from his brain.

His mind kept circling to Sam’s experience with Toni Bevell. He was finally starting to understand how Sammy must have felt.

Sex had always been a fun, an escape from the other nightmares of his life. This was so, so far from fun!

He'd tried to understand, sure, as much he could. Tried to say the right things, or at least not say the wrong things. Had even put some stealthy research into it, all those weeks ago.  
But lying here, tied to a bed, waiting for the merbitch to come back; he realized how many light years he’d been away, from getting it. How Toni did must have screwed with Sam’s head.

Sam always confused sex with love, or maybe, they just always went together for his earnest, heart on his sleeve kid brother.

Dean found himself profoundly grateful to Lucifer for the first time ever.  
If the evil son-of-a-bitch hadn't shredded his brother’s soul in the cage, it'd be Sammy tied to the bed right now, drowning on mermaid poison and endorphins. An out of the blue biblical reference floated to the surface of his mind, something about God working all things for good... damn, he hoped he wasn't catching religion on top of everything else. Forcefully, he shoved the Chuck related thoughts away, buried them in the ‘Leave it the Fuck alone,’ box - His feelings toward Chuck held too much confusion to mess with, even on a good day, when he wasn’t tied to a bed by a mermaid that had a hard on for bondage and eating a guy’s soul.

Still he was glad it was him, not Sam. He had no illusions how long Sammy could have held out against the Jessica look-a-like’s advances. His little brother had been half gone just looking at her, from across the room.

Dean worked his wrists back and forth relentlessly, glancing again at the bedroom door.

Samantha had been gone a long time, he wondered if she'd gone to the bar to sing or whether she was up to something worse.  
Her talk about Sam’s blood being addictive wasn't exactly reassuring.

He wondered if Sam had worked out that he was missing yet.  
Wondered if Sam was trying to track him down.

Seemed whenever he and Sam split up, one of them ended up in trouble.

He wondered if this ended badly, whether Mom would finally come home.  
Sure she would, for Sam. It was good that Sam’d have Mom, if this all went south.

........

Sam crouched low trying to move as unobtrusively as possible, through the moonlit landscape of low scrub and sea grass that seemed to be Montauk's endemic coastal flora. All his extra inches were just a pain at moments like this.

The shape of Samantha’s residence came into view back dropped by moon and the surge and rush of the ocean against the shore, which filled the night with rushing whispers.

The sound would have been pleasant normally but now it obscure every other sound in the night, and the moonlight played tricks with his depth perception as he approached the small wooden building his eyes were drawn towards the brightly lit windows.

The jolt of pain and the feel of his legs giving way took Sam by surprise.  
Before he could marshal more than a poleaxed feeling of surprise, a lithe figure was kneeling over him in the moonlight and cool moist lips sealed over his.  
The sound of the sea followed him down, into a darkness that held no stars.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter** **23**

At some point Dean must have blacked out again.  
When he woke, again feeling like he was suffering from the world’s worst hangover, it was to the sound of things being dragged around in the other room.

Samantha dragged one of the single beds that doubled as couches into the bedroom.

"I hear fish sleep with their eyes open." Dean greeted his captor, keeping up the infuriating banter.

Making her mad seemed as good a plan as any, and it gave him something to think about, rather than how much he wanted another taste of her poison.

"Oh, it's not for me" Samantha favoured him with a cutting smile. "I got you a roommate."

When she returned, she was dragging Sam.

 

Dean lost it.

...........

 

Samantha looked down at him.

"Sam, Sam!" she mocked, as Dean lay panting exhausted by his pointless struggles. She ran a finger in the blood that had started seeping from his abraided wrists.

“I've never had two at once before," she informed him brightly, and licked her finger thoughtfully.

"You don't need him, you said he was useless, I'll do whatever you want. Just… let Sammy go." Dean's green eyes bounced backwards and forwards between the mermaid and his brother's still form, trying to gauge how hurt Sam was.

Samantha backed off and sat down next to Sam on the bed, running her fingers through his hair like she was stroking a pet dog, her eyes stayed on Dean and her smile was nasty.

"I don't need him,” she conceded, “but I want him. By the time I'm finished with you, you'll both do what I want and you'll be begging me for more."

Sliding off Sam's bed, she returned to Dean, and draped herself against him, looked into his eyes from closeup, waiting.

It was torture.

With a stifled whimper, Dean gave in, leaning up to capture her lips willingly.  
Kissing her like he meant it.

An indeterminate time later Samantha broke the kiss and sat up.

"Mmm," she breathed "you really are something else," she licked her lips.

Surreptitiously Dean’s eyes flicked sideways to Sam’s still form.  
"Image how good it _could_ be if I could use my hands," he suggested, looking into the mermaid’s blue eyes in studied innocence.

…………..

"D-n," Sam chose that moment to begin coming too.

"Right here, little bro," Dean cleared his throat, "you good?"

"Define good," Sam muttered querulously, tried to sit up and found himself bound. “Hey!” He fumed suddenly realising all was no right with the world.

"Yeah, 'bout that... seems your new girlfriend’s a mermaid."

Sam rolled his head to look blearily at his brother, taking in the woman perched on the bed next to him.

"Don't mind me," she trilled waving between them, "you boys catch up."

Dean shot her a look filled with daggers.

"As I said, Samantha here is a soulless mermaid, not a siren like I thought.  
She's got the whole poisoned love spit thing goin' on.  
But the bronze dagger and your blood did nothin’, nailed her in the heart with it, nada. Seems to like the taste of her victim’s blood, so poisoning her with it's a bust...  
Turns out a couple of months ago, when the sun started dying, she thought it was the end of the world... and decided she didn't just want to snuff it- She wanted an immortal soul, so she wouldn't just get flushed away, like the giant goldfish she is. Those poor smucks were her early attempts.  
Yours truly got selected for a soulectomy, host transplant. Thanks to Rowena’s wee blimey bomb an’ the residue Chuck didn't clean out." Dean forged ahead with the story over Sam’s swearing. "Apparently your blood tastes really good to her Sam, she used the words addictive...isn't that swell... so while your soul is too damaged for a soulectomy and she doesn't need you.....she still WANTS you ....

As rescue attempts go, yours sucks bro. How’d tall blonde and fishy get the drop on you Sam?”

  
Sam just gaped at him.

  
“That’s about it, here we are. Part of a bad S&M porno starring you, me and fish girl." Dean changed his focus to the mermaid. "Did I forget anything, Miss Mackerel?"

Samantha favoured him with a pensive look. "Dean you should be nicer to me," she pouted and hopped off the bed to approach Sam.

Again, she stroked Sam’s hair, but this time Dean’s brother struggled and jerked away.

"Don't you want me Sammy?" She asked sweetly, gripping his face roughly in her hands, kissed him deeply, ignoring the younger Winchester’s struggle.

When Samantha released Sam he lay impassively, looked up at her with wide eyes.

"See Dean, that's how you're supposed to do it, no back chat."

In response Sam gave her a dopey, blinding smile. "Jess... I've missed you, s-o much" he breathed.

Samantha met Dean’s eyes with a cutting smile, and picked up the bronze dagger from the dresser  unbuttoning Sam’s shirt she’d pushed up his undershirt and laid a shallow cut across Sam's stomach.

Dean swore and thrashed uselessly as he watched his brother frown and blink in surprised hurt, half coming out of his daze.  
Then, he gasped, in something totally different, as Samantha’s tongue lapped across his skin, over the open wound.

God, it was horrible. Forced to watch, unable to do anything! 

  
Through it all, her eyes were fixed on Dean, until she swallowed and her eyes rolled back in evident pleasure.

"Be nice to me Dean," the blonde woman purred through reddened lips, "I can be your wet dream, or your worst nightmare, it's up to you, the same goes for your brother....."

With that Samantha stood, turned on her heel and left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No art for this chapter, sorry. I’ve been feeling like the effort versus reward doesn’t justify it when life is busy.  
> If you are enjoying this fic please consider commenting and kudosing, it’s the only payment I get.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter** **24**

"Sam, Sam, Sammy are you with me over there?" Dean’s voice broke through the haze in Sam's mind.

"Yeah Dean, I'm here." Sam rolled his head and gave his brother a rueful look.

"Sammy that thing isn't Jess OK. Not her, don't let her in like that..."

"Not Jess," Sam repeated and shifted the piece of aquamarine against his teeth with his tongue.  
He swallowed roughly.  
It seemed to help a little, hadn't stopped his body reacting, but his mind seemed mostly clear now.

"Yeah Dean, I know, look I'm sorry, this is all my fault," Sam looked around to see how his hands were tied.  
"Man!? Cable ties?" He demanded and huffed with disgust.

"Oh ye-ah, she's a modern mermaid... none of that old-fashioned ropes of seaweed crap. Straight to the serial killer’s best friend."

"None of the other victims were restrained," Sam frowned at the lack of consistency.

"Think we're getting special treatment. Extra marinade, ‘cause the other vic's didn't give her what she needed, an' she's running out of time. - Think she's finding me a mite challenging." Dean sounded smug. "Get the feeling most guys turn to putty after one kiss."

Sam rolled his eyes at the tone in his brother’s voice. “So, playing hard to get's your big plan?"

Dean let out a theatrical groan. "Don't say it Sammy..."

"What...?"

"Hard..."

Sam shot him a bitch-face, "Dean, this is serious."

Dean let out a strained chuckle. "Trust me baby bro, I get the seriousness of the situation." He began working his bindings back and forth once more. "Bet you're wishing you weren't pent up right now."

"Bet you're wishing you weren't an over sexed hound-dog," Sam shot back, beginning to work his own cable ties.

"What I'm really wishing for,” Dean jerked his hands in frustration, “is my fricking hands free, and a way to gank the bitch," he grated, "please tell me you've got somethin'."

Sam hmphed and blew out a huff through his tangled bangs. "Nada."

"So, we're back to bein' dinner and a show.  
Just for the record Sam, when I ragged on you to get laid after labcoat land, I so didn't wanna be in the room with you while it was happening."

Sam shot his brother an unimpressed look.  
"You’re a total Jerk, Dean!"

"What-ever Bitch! Bet Becky would die of disappointment if she knew something like this was happening, without Chuck around to write about it..."

"My brother... he can find a silver lining in anything."

"Yep, a sense of humor in the face of somethin’ that's pretty much a giant clusterfuck... that’s a thing of beauty, Sammy...  
Seriously, we'll figure it out, OK, we always do."

…ooo0ooo…

Sam breathed deeply, trying to calm his shuddering heart.  
He was spent, wrung out, plastered with sweat, blood and … other things.

Samantha had come back, and when she did, things had got ‘unpleasantly pleasant’ as Dean had described it, in his usual piss and vinegar way.

But, Dean’s cocky arrogance had dried up hours ago.  
Samantha was a quick study, she'd worked out Sam was his big brother’s weakness and she'd used it.  
Dean had always preferred to draw the monster’s attention to himself, and away from his little brother, if there was a choice.  
It was what Dad had taught him. So that’s what he did.

In the corner of Sam’s mind that was still clear of the mermaid poison, courtesy of the fragment of aquamarine, he tried to work out some kind of plan.

…..

"I want to keep you both, Sammy.” Samantha's voice came from the bed beside Sam.  
It gave him a small flare of irritation, when she ran her fingers through his sweaty hair as if she was soothing a high strung animal, but he was past jerking away, past wearing himself out more, his time in the cage had taught him the futility of fighting someone that much stronger when he held none of the cards.

“There's a chance your brother, Dean, might come out of the ocean after this. I find I want him too…”

Sam shivered at her words.... soulless Dean....Having dealt with demon Dean, having been soulless himself for a year, he wondered if Dean dying should feel preferable; but they’d never been able to let each other go, it was the endless cycle wasn’t it?  
Psychotically, irrationally, erotically codependent on each other, that’s how some of their enemies had painted the ties that bound them.  
“There ain’t no me if there ain’t no you…” Dean had said.  
Sam has tried to fight it, tried to ignore it, he’d run all the way to Stanford to leave it behind.  
But when Toni dragged Dean into that basement after he thought he’d lost him to be a suicide bomber. Sam had accepted it.  
Dean had killed death, Sam’d released the darkness. They’d disappointed, betrayed, hurt and screwed each other up, more than any two other people in history, but at the end of everything they couldn’t willingly let go.  
Soul or no soul.

"When I have a soul, I'll be able to become the mother of a whole new generation of mermaids.” Their captor continued, “.... they could do much worse than having your and your brother’s genes."

Apparently, things could get worse.  
Being used to father a whole new generation of monsters, that had to be a twisted new depth.

Another bite of the bronze knife into his flesh made him flinch in belated surprise.

The cut was only superficial.

He wouldn’t bleed out from it or the dozens of others, mores the pity.

The whole sex and blood thing was too much like a distorted rerun of those months with Ruby.  
A reminder of one of the biggest mistakes of his life, Sam could have done without the trip down memory lane.  
He wondered if it was the demon blood taint in him that Samantha couldn't get enough of, or whether it was something else. He supposed it could just as well be the lingering fragments of Lucifer or Gadreel’s grace. Or something else, the Croatin virus maybe? The stack of possibilities was huge. There’d been so many taints and invasions of his body and soul over the years, working that out was like throwing darts blindfolded.

The jolt of the mermaid poison and the flood of sensations as Samantha licked at his blood once again made him roll his face to the side helplessly.  
The motion left him staring straight into his brother’s unseeing green eyes.

God!

There was a shocking blankness in Dean’s eyes, one that pushed every other sensation from Sam's mind except terror.

“Dean?”  
His brother’s name fell from his lips as a plea.

Dean didn’t even blink in response.

"Tonight," Samantha promised. "Tonight, your brother will give me his soul."


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter** **25**

"Sam, Sam!" A slap woke Sam from a exhausted doze. He hadn't eaten or drunken anything for more than two days, the mermaid poison, the inability to move much and the multitude of small cuts and bloodletting. None of it was life threatening but the entire weight of everything was beginning to grind him down.

Sam narrowed his eyes, feeling pain pounding and drumming in his skull, the sun had barely risen, night was hours away.

Samantha looked down at him frowning in irritation.

"Humans are so weak and fragile" she muttered to herself.

The shock of having his arms cut free after so long made him feel almost weightless.

Samantha wrenched him upright.

A bottle of water was thrust into his face, grating roughly against his lips and teeth.

"Drink" she ordered tersely.

He gulped clumsily, almost swallowing the fragment of aquamarine, before remembering.

"D-n!?" It was a demand and a question.

"Drink, I said," Samantha hissed shaking him.

Sam drunk, but his eyes were on the still shape on the bed opposite.

Shit!  
He could hardly sit upright unassisted, he was no match for her strength at full capacity and this was far from it. His mind went to the Plum Island autopsy report. That body had been ripped apart, any thoughts of a desperate escape attempt were shattered before he could even try.

The bottle was empty, he felt sick, nauseous, but he struggled to keep the fluid down.

"Dean..." his voice was a blasted croak.

Samantha looked angry, "He's alive," the blonde looked like she wanted to hit something. "I want him to stay that way," she spoke the words like they tasted bad.  
"It's his fault, both of your fault that you made me go so far. Why do you have to make this so difficult," she shook him again. "You're both so stubborn, weak and pathetic," she raged with another furious shake. As if that would help.

"You -are -going -to -help -me," she snarled, "I- need- him- alive- "

Sam wanted to tell her to go screw herself. But she was telling him to do what he wanted to. What he needed to.

Sam staggered to his feet and stumbled the two steps to where Dean lay.

"He won't drink for me." Samantha shoved another water bottle into his hands.

Sam sighed looking down at his brother’s face, Dean had a plan.

Yes, Dean would rather die than let the mermaid win.

His wrists were a mangled mess, blood was dried on the cast iron frame and soaked into the mattress. Dean’s skin was so pale he looked translucent, his lips nearly blue. His skin was clammy and cold. Fine tremors ran through his frame.

"You need to cut him free."

He watched numbly as Samantha’s pliers cut through the evil cable ties, like they were nothing.

Sam dragged his brother’s limp form onto his lap. Wrapped his arms around him possessively.

"Dean! Dean! Come on man, wake up," he looked up at the mermaid, loathing, anger and helpless worry beating through his body.

"He's too cold. Please, tell me this place has a bath and hot water."

Samantha wrenched Dean out of his arms and dragged him across the floor to the bathroom.

"Fuck! Look, he's not a stuffed toy, you psycho, you want him alive!" He raged following after her on rubbery legs.

Samantha shot him a puzzled look, then picked Dean up, and Sam realized that while the creature looked human, she really wasn't.

He filled the tub with warm water as she stood there.  
When he stepped back, Samantha dropped Dean into it.  
With a strangled yelp, Sam lunged forward, barely keeping his brothers head above water.

"For fucksake! Don't ever get a dog," Sam snarled at her, crouched beside his brother as he held his head above water.

For a second the look on the mermaid’s cool, beautiful face reminded Sam of Cas. But Cas had never been that cold, even in the beginning.

As the heat began to work its way in, Dean stirred.  
Samantha stood in the doorway, watching them both, as Sam trickled water into his brother’s mouth, stroking his throat to coax him into swallowing.

Finally, Deans eyes focused on him, then shot past Sam, to the mermaid in the doorway.

"S-mmy?"

"I've got you," Sam stroked a hand through his brothers damp hair, "I've got you."

Deans throat worked. "She's got us both," he rasped and struggled weakly against Sam's grip.

Sam dug his fingers into his brother’s shoulders holding him still.  
"No, stay, rest."

Dean rolled his head weakly, his eyes met Sam's.  
"Kill me. If I'm dead, she dies. You can survive this."

Sam clenched his jaw, shaking his head in denial.  
How could Dean even ask him?! What made Dean think he could ever survive doing that?

"You don't have the only soul in the world Dean,” he said instead, “she'll burn through every innocent she can lay her hands on, Dean. She's got nothing to lose..."  
His voice failed him for a moment, "it has to end tonight."

The green eyes that met his welled with a look that cried betrayal.

Sam closed his eyes, swallowing back his anger and pain. Looked instead to the mermaid.

"If you really want to keep us alive, you need to give us food and water.  
Keep us warm.  
Make sure we have frickin' air to breath." Sam glared at Samantha as he crouched there still holding his brother.

"Sam!" Dean rasped, pulling himself away and upright.

Sam pulled himself to his feet, placed himself between his brother and the mermaid. Reached a hand behind him, to stop Dean from rising.

"No!” He snarled risking a look behind him. “For fuck’s sake Dean, she wants pets. She's gotta learn to look after them. She's killing us."

Sam let his hand slide away and took another step towards the blonde creature. "You say you want to keep us, but you nearly drowned him 5 minutes ago, you're right, we are weak, and fragile. First lesson, keep our heads above water!  
Next, you like the taste of me? Fine, I'll feed you, but you have to feed us."

"Sam!" Dean hissed in warning.

"I don't think you are really in a position to make demands, Sam." Samantha’s voice was brittle.

Sam took another step forward and reached out to stroke Samantha’s cheek, tried to imagine she was Jess for a moment. "They're not demands," he sighed, his hazel eyes looking down at the distorted image of his first love, "they're requests," he took the last step forward and kissed her. Giving himself up to it.

............

"Sam, no!"

Dean dragged himself out of the tub in a cascade of water and pulled his brother away from Samantha.  
He slipped and nearly fell, but Sam wrapped his arm round his waist.

"Don't you dare go Stockholm on me little brother." Sam's mouth worked for a second then he shot him a rueful half smile.

"Don't die on me then!” Sam glared at the fish woman, drawn up to his full Sasquatch height. "We need dry clothes, food and bandages." He demanded, and Dean expected that any moment Ariel the S&M mermaid would backhand him.  
But she didn’t, she walked out, shutting the door.

Sam guided him to sit on the closed toilet lid and handed him a towel.

"Stop giving her lessons on proper care and maintenance of humans, Sam,” he scolded, “tell me how we get out of this." Dean hated how weak he sounded, how weak he felt.

"For now, we survive," Sam's voice was fierce, but held very little hope.

"Yeah ok." He looked away feeling coils of guilt. If he hadn’t jumped to conclusions and panicked, neither one of them would be in this mess….

Samantha walked back in with a handful of clothing, some of it was theirs, some of it must have been from her previous victims. She handed Sam a med kit, then walked out again.

Dean raised an eyebrow at his brother. "So you're teaching Flipper new tricks?"

"Don't call her that, Dean." Sam warned

"Stockholm much, bro?"

"It's not Stockholm to try NOT to piss off the thing that can tear you limb from limb. It's frickin’ common sense, Dean!" Sam helped him strip and dress without another word, then opened the med kit. Usually he’d have bitched and moaned about Sam mother henning, but right now he was glad of the contact. It grounded him.

"She's spent more than two days molesting me— molesting you! right there in the same room.... she wants to eat my fucking soul Sam! And you want me to be polite to her?!"

"Dean, Amara wanted to eat your soul too,” Sam answered wearily, “… and you didn't go out of your way to piss her off."

"What part of God’s frickin’ sister did you miss Sam? That was… different..." Dean found himself trailing off.

Sam just looked at him, one eyebrow raised. Didn’t say a word as he started bandaging his wrists.

"It was ...." He hated the sulky tone in his voice, shut his mouth and watched Sam wrap his wrist then tie off the bandage neatly. Big-ass paws quick and gentle as always, mouth thinned with that studious look of concentration, and that upside down wifi scrunch in the middle of his forehead, the one he’d had since he was a kid, patching up things no kid should see.

Instead of stopping there, Sam added several more layers of loose messy bandage over the top, building up a layer of short wraps that would pull off easily.  
Realising Sam's plan, Dean grinned and met his brother’s hazel eyes. Pull off those bandages and you got some wiggle room.

Sam was smart, he hadn't given up.

"Now do mine." Sam ordered holding out his own wrists.

"In a bit," Dean examined his brother’s chest in dismay, winced at the slash across his brother’s left nipple below his anti-possession tat, that one probably hurt like a bitch.

"You need a shower first," he ordered.

Sam tensed, and Dean could tell the last thing his brother wanted was to take his clothes off or be that vulnerable.

"It's ok Francis, whatever shreds of virtue you have left…. I'll protect them with my life."

Turning away he faced the door, arms crossed.

Sam grunted, but stripped and took the worlds shortest shower, hissing in pain as the water found all his cuts. When he turned back, Sam was wearing a pair of too short jogging pants with nothing underneath.  
They didn’t leave a whole lot to the imagination, which made him feel possessive and pissed off thinking about the bitch looking at his little brother like that.  
Sam stared at him through his damp curling bangs with his dumb kicked puppy eyes, begging him to somehow make this all better.

Dean let himself reach out, lay a hand over the anti-possession tat’ that matched his own. Feel the warmth of Sam’s always hotter skin under his palm and the thud of his heartbeat for a few breaths.

Then got started on cleaning his brother’s chest wounds and his wrists, adding extra useless layers of bandages.

"What now?" Dean watched Sam slide the small pair of medical scissors into concealment.  
He wasn't sure what Sam thought they'd do that the bronze dagger didn't, but it was something.

"Now we play nice," Sam murmured and looked away, then back and took a deep breath, letting the look in his eyes broadcast his full meaning.

"I'm not sure I can Sam..." He answered sounding like he was begging. But looking at Sam he knew he would.

............

Samantha fed them, then Dean watched in horror while Sam fed her.

He found he couldn't look away despite himself.

Fuck this was sick, watching this happen to his brother.  
Hearing Sammy’s bitten of gasps, sounds he’d only ever caught through the closed bathroom door, half drowned out by the shower.

He didn’t want Sam’s wrecked look of pained ecstasy burned into his brain. But he couldn’t look away.  
It was sick.  
It was sicker that he felt this strangling envy, despite himself.  
Dean bit his lip, feeling the thrum of addiction and need burning through his blood as he watched.

I'm just a fucking junkie. He told himself, again and again.

As if she heard his thoughts, Samantha looked up at him with a smile, her lips red with his brother’s blood.  
Sam looked up at him too, ‘play nice’ written on his face, eyes begging silently.

Dean wanted to scream. Wanted to cry, wanted to die! Wanted to kill the monster clasped loosely against his brother’s chest.  
But now, mostly, he just wanted.

He’d broken in Hell, and now he was breaking again.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter** **26**

Samantha had started to relax and let her guard down.  
Sam half sat, half lay on the bed with his hands cable tied to the cast iron bedframe. His feet were free, thank goodness for small mercies.

Dean was only attached to the other bed by one hand now. Not that it mattered. Sam sighed and watched the rise and fall of his brothers breathing.

Damn, Sam hoped Dean was just asleep, not spiralling the drain again.

When Dean had stopped fighting Samantha, and had become a willing participant, it had been the hardest thing Sam had ever had to witness; not because of what his brother was doing, only feet away.  
Sure that was a million kinds of wrong, to witness your brother doing that.

But because he'd witnessed Dean breaking.

And he, Sam, had asked him to do it, he'd thrown his big brother to a monster that wanted to rip out his soul, with the instructions to give her a good time.

Dean would have never done that to him.

Never.

Samantha walked back into the room and sat down on the bed next to Dean, stroking his hair like he was some doted on pet.

"He really is beautiful," she mused looking across to Sam with those blue eyes. "You both are."

Sam wasn't sure what to say, so he stuck to agreeing with her.

"Yeah... he is," It was true, Dean is good looking, he’s always known that… but it was never how he looked that made Sam value him. Dean is the most internally beautiful person Sam knows. He cleared his throat uncertainly. "Is he asleep... or…?"

"Asleep," she confirmed with a nod, traced one exploratory finger down Dean’s cheek and over his lower lip.  
Sam felt a useless flicker of fury rise again, seeing her touch him like that. Like he was just something pretty for her to possess.  
Dean wasn’t hers. Dean was his and he wanted-her-hands-off-him.

"I'm old you know.” Samantha continued easily, unaware of Sam’s antipathy. “You humans, I've watched your kind since they were little more than animals, we can leave the water for a short time without…" she waved her hand implying her current state, "I've had plenty of your kind over the years, for sustenance and because I was bored, the way you squirm and cry out is amusing.... But, this form… is different.... or maybe he is...."

Sam watched a genuine smile curve the mermaid’s lips, suddenly wondered if his blood was having the same effect on her as it had on Crowley during the demon trials.

"Do you usually drink blood?" He asked, wanting to know.

At the mention of blood, Samantha licked her lips and looked at him. "When we consume humans we usually consume all of them,” she answered as careless as a cat holding court with mice. “But... if I did that with you.... it would be over."

She slid off Dean’s bed and approached him. Climbed onto the bed and crawled into his lap to rest her cheek against his chest.  
“You’re so warm.” She murmered softly, and kissed the still weeping wound she’d made to feed.  
The contact made Sam's breath catch, his heart race and heat pool low in his gut, he fought against the urge to obey his body and try to take things further.

Remembered Dean’s wordless cries and gasps.

Samantha cut one of his hands free and curled it around herself.  
Sam found himself stroking her long blonde hair idly, while she licked at his skin.

Samantha looked up into his eyes and smiled, looking so soft and sleepy, so like Jess— so long ago, when held her and she’d fallen asleep in his arms. Back when he believed in a better world.

"Touching and being touched feels good," she mused, "when your brother touches me, I find myself making the sounds .... feeling things I’ve never felt… is this how it is for you humans?

Sam cleared his throat unsteadily. "I'm led to believe, Dean, is quite good at.... uhhh giving pleasure.” He felt a flash of confusion, and heat warm his face, it was just too bizarre. The mermaid was a sexual predator, in every sense of the word, but she was also… almost innocent.

Right now, relaxed, curled against him; strung out on his blood, she seemed harmless and vulnerable. Something to treasure and protect.

Eyeing Dean’s sleeping form, he remembered his brother’s accusation of Stockholm syndrome. Even with the aquamarine, he wasn't sure how straight his thinking was right now…

If it wasn’t for what she was doing to Dean, what she wanted to do to Dean…. there was a part of him that felt the temptation to let go, and let himself believe Samantha was Jess. That the arousal she was poisoning him with was love, to stop fighting. Was that how Dean was feeling?

Their lives weren’t that great, an endless parade of monsters. Eventually something was going to get them… at least this felt sort of good, peaceful… and they were together.

Sam blinked in horror… No, they wouldn’t be together, Samantha wanted to steal his brother’s soul. Every other man she’d got her claws into ended up as a bloated corpse on a morgue table.

He had a plan, he needed to move it along.

"Where are our weapons? You shouldn't leave them lying around where people can see. If someone sees them, it could cause trouble."

Samantha waved her hand at the other room languidly. "No one comes here. They're out of sight, under the sink."

"Oh good," Sam kissed her forehead, "that's my girl."

...........

"Dean, Dean wake up!"

The day was fading towards sunset, Sam looked anxiously over at his brother.  
Dean was awake, but he just lay there blinking from time to time.

"Dean! Dean, come on man, snap out of it!"

"S'mmy?

"Yeah, you need to try and get your head straight, Dean."

"L' me 'lone S'mmy. Don' wanna," his brother’s reply was sulky and weak.

…..

Samantha was back, Dean looked up at her with a stunning smile, his green eyes brightening. The mermaid smiled back and ran her hand over Dean’s body possessively. Sam watched the way his brother leaned into her touch.

"Samantha!" Sam demanded the mermaid’s attention through gritted teeth.

"What?!" She snapped, looking away from Dean irritatedly.

"If you want to keep him. You have to stop! Whatever it is you plan to do with him tonight, he's not going to be in any shape for it. Look at him.” He pleaded.

The look the mermaid shot him was full of daggers, she was a spoilt child with a new toy. There was nothing harmless or vulnerable about the snarl she let out, as she tugged his brother into her arms, like a dog defending a bone.

Speaking past the fear of certain reprisal, Sam pushed on. "Samantha, look-at-him. Please! He needs a break... you both do. Believe me, I want you to succeed.” He lied.  
“If you could, could… just leave enough of him behind, so he's still my brother... My soul’s a wreck, you said it yourself... but I'm alive and … and maybe he can live too— still be Dean.  
Anything is better than nothing!  
Y-you said, you liked what he can do, he can’t do anything if he ends up dead, like the others. Please, please give him a chance... I need him!" He was openly begging now, tears trailing down his face and words running out in desperation.

Samantha stood and strode across to him, he flinched back, expecting punishment, something to shut him up.  
But she simply used her pliers to cut his other hands free.

"You have an hour."

"Th-Thankyou….” He stammered wiping his face and stumbled over to his brother, laid his hands on him.  
Reached for the plastic water bottle.

“He, he could really do with something with a bucket load of sugar and caffeine and ...more food?” He was pushing it, but he had to get Dean lucid. Sober him up.

She returned with a can of energy drink and of all things ...pie.

"Pie?" Sam asked in surprise.

"He said he wanted it."

Sam felt his frown deepen. "You discussed his dessert preferences?"

"While he was being ...difficult, he said he wanted pie more than he wanted me."

Sam couldn't help his surprised bark of laughter at her hurt tone, he reached out and patted her hand.

"Well… uhh… don't take it too hard, Dean does really love pie."

................

Sam got all of the energy drink down his brother, but only a small amount of the pie.  
Dean’s eyes were more focused, but barely left Samantha.  
It was frightening and infuriating, made Sam feel like that isolated, shut out kid again, dying inside for lack of his brother’s- the only person that mattered’s attention.

"It's time." Samantha’s words sent a wave of panic through him.

"At least … let me say …goodbye."

Samantha nodded.

Gripping Dean’s face in both his hands, Sam stared into his brother’s eyes.  
Prayed to the god that had left, that this would work.

"Dean, I know you're in there and you're so, so not going to like this...”  
“But it's all I can give you," Sam swallowed, "y-you need this okay, if you're going to survive. Dean I need you to come back. Dean, there ain’t no me, if there ain’t no you. Please Dean, you promised me! Nothing you said, nothing past or present... You gotta prove it to me." Sam bit his lip nervously still searching his brother’s eyes. "All I can say is, please, don't, swallow."

Holding Dean as tightly as he could, Sam leaned forward and kissed his brother deeply.  
Thrust his tongue into Dean’s slack mouth and felt the small piece of hardness click against Dean’s teeth.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

Sam pulled back slightly to search his brother’s face for awareness.  
From inches away, he saw the aquamarine take effect. One second Dean’s eyes were heavy lidded and dazed; then his pupils shrunk down to black pinpricks, and expanded back to something more normal.  
Dean’s expression went for stoned and slavish, to shock. Something that screamed, _‘Sam? what the fuck!’_

 

Under his grip, Sam felt Dean’s muscles bunch and tense. Held him tighter, as Dean tried to backpedal away, lips parted in shock.

Sam put all his strength into holding Dean still, wordlessly used his eyes to beseech his brother to understand, and get with the program.

After two panting breaths, Dean’s nostrils flared and the side of his mouth quirked fractionally. He might have nodded minutely.

Then, his muscles relaxed under Sam’s anxiously restraining hands, his eyes glazed over and he turned his head to look to Samantha, like a flower turning back towards the sunlight once more.

Sam swallowed, tormented by yammering doubts. Was Dean acting, or hadn’t it been enough?  
He too looked up at Samantha.

"Let me come," he begged, made himself stand, leave Dean, and approach the mermaid. Look down into her blue eyes.  
"I can help you,” he pleaded running his hands down her arms, trying to convince her he was on her side.

"No."

"But..." he subsided, afraid to push too much.  
"Please, just come back to me," he begged and fought an urge to look at Dean again, to plead for some kind of reassurant response.  
"Remember what I said. Keep his _head above water.._."

Sam took a deep breath, and cradled Samantha’s face in his hands, just as he had done with his brother moments before, and kissed her like he meant it.

Taking the hit of mermaid poison unprotected almost dropped him to his knees.  
He sat heavily on the bed and held one hand up to the bars.

Hoping and praying.

Samantha cable tied his hand to the bed, but didn't attempt to secure his other one.  
She stroked a hand down his face and he found himself turning in towards it without meaning to, kissing her palm.

Samantha smiled down at him and patted his cheek gently.  
"Don’t fret. We will be back."

"I'll be waiting," he promised and gave her a smile, but couldn’t stop himself flicking tormented eyes back towards Dean.

When Samantha took Dean’s hands and led him from the room, it was all Sam could do to watch his brother walk away without giving himself away.

 

It seemed to be his fate, to repeatedly watch his brother walk away to die, to be unable to argue or stop it.

…ooo0ooo…

 _'Being kissed by Sam isn't the most screwed up thing to happen here,'_ Dean advised himself, when the shock and the reality came crashing in on him. Sam held him there, giant Sasquatch arms and paws like a freaking iron cage, face inches away, staring at him with anxious eyes, as he looming over him.

He had to admit it was smart, crossing that line was probably the most shocking thing Sammy could have done.

God! He needed some space, kept imagining that he could still taste Sam, feel the ghost of his tongue in his mouth.  
The sensation of Sam’s lips mashed against his own, the rasp of his two day stubble, burnt into him like a brand.  
He was having a hard time not raising a hand to touch his lips, or wipe at his mouth.

_A dude, his own brother._

This was something he and Sammy were never going to discuss, when/if they got out of this one.  
Even if Sammy pulled out the puppy eyes.  
NEVER!

Dean prodded at the small fragment of something hard Sam had slipped him, with his freaking tongue.

_Sonofabitch! Sam frenched me… shit! Gotta stop thinking about it!_

The thing wasn’t large, it was flat but irregular and hard, like some kind of small bit of stone. Whatever it was, it seemed to have sobered him up in some way.

_"It's all I can give you" .... "you need this" ... "please, don't, swallow."_

Dean didn't know what he was supposed to do now, just keep acting like he was Samantha’s spit slave?  
He knew Sam had to have a plan, but it would have been nice if he coulda let him in on it.

All he could do was trust his brother and follow Samantha away out of the room without a backward glance, try not to give the game away, he could feel Sam's eyes burning into on him.

_"Dean I need you to come back. Dean, there ain’t no me, if there ain’t no you.."_

..............

The sun had set, and the moon was slung low over the water, a arc of brilliance that finger-painted trails of light over the gentle swell of the ocean.

The tang of salt water filled his lungs and the surge and susurrus of the waves seemed to fill Dean’s head with half heard whispers.

The cool sand of the trail down to the sea seemed to bleed electricity into him up from the soles of his bare feet.

Samantha walked backwards along the path without looking back, held his hands in hers. The way she looked up into his eyes like he was the center of the universe, filled him with a feeling of internal quiet, deep stillness which reminded him of Amara’s presence, it was almost hypnotic.

Samantha shrugged off all her clothes, leaving them pooled in the sand at her feet.  
Her skin was pale silver in the moon-glow, shadowed and highlighted like something mystical. Dean found himself thinking, despite himself and everything she had done to him; that this terrible awful creature, was also beautiful beyond belief.

When she stripped him of all his clothing except his shorts, he didn't resist. Couldn’t.

Without a word the mermaid led him into the water. With each step into the water the cold grew more intense, yet the heat cresting in his blood grew hotter.

Eventually the water covered them both them from the shoulders down.

Samantha turned in the lapping water and faced him again, there were small pains in his hands, as her nails embedded themselves into his skin, but it all felt somewhere far away and distant, the pain unimportant.

Then, she began to sing.

The sound was like a million instruments and a choir of angels captured in a single voice.

It made him want to weep, claw off his own ears and never stop listening, simultaneously.

It was like nothing he had ever heard.

If her kiss was like a drug. Her voice was like death and rebirth.

............

Heart hammering Sam counted to 200 in his head, then unraveled the bandages on his wrist to give himself some room to work, slipped the small medical scissors from where he'd hidden them and begun to saw at the cable tie attaching him to the bed. The scissors were tiny and blunt and for long minutes Sam despaired ever getting free.

But finally, the tough plastic snapped and he was free.

‘First item on the agenda achieved’, Sam congratulated himself inanely.

The next was more important, moving quickly Sam found his way to the sink and crouched to retrieve all the weapons Samantha had confiscated.

There it was, Deans beloved Grenade launcher.

It wasn't the best plan in the world, but sometimes overwhelming fire power succeeded where simple common sense, research and lore didn't. The story of Bobby with the Okami and woodchipper was just such a moment.

Sam begged everything holy that grenade launcher would trump supposedly immortal mermaid.

He slammed out of the cabin and broke into a run towards the surf.

…ooo0ooo…

Samantha placed her hands either side of Dean’s face, and leaned in as if she was going to kiss him.

Instead she opened her mouth and breathed in, her hands forcing his jaws apart with casual strength.

Tendrils shot out of her mouth, invading his.

There was a sensation like something tearing deep inside his chest, and a glow seemed to claw its way up from the source of the pain and fill his throat and mouth.

Dean found himself frozen in shock, watching Samantha’s upturned face lit by that unearthly glow, a look halfway between agony and ecstasy filled her eyes as she gazed back up at him.

…ooo0ooo…

Sam hit the beach at a dead run, the grenade launcher cradled against his chest.

When he fixed on Dean and Samantha in the water, light flickering and glowing between them his courage faltered, then flared with desperation.  
With a keening cry he lifted the Grenade launcher and sighted on the mermaid, prayed to anything that would listen that he wasn’t about to kill his brother.

For a second Sam thought Dean turned his head, met his eyes across the intervening space.

Then Sam pulled the trigger.

**.**  
**.**  
**.**  
**.**

 

Nothing happened.

 

How could he have missed it? How could he have been so damn stupid.  
There were no grenades in the fucking thing.  
Sure, the weapons had been under the sink, but it was now apparent the ammo was somewhere else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I’m a terrible human being, comments please.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

Sam let the grenade launcher slide from his hands, the only other thing he had was the bronze dagger.  
Dean had tried that and failed.

Sometimes an instant can last for eternity, this one did. Sam's mind chased every scenario, if he went back to try find the grenades, it would be too late, if he tried fighting Samantha with what he had, he wouldn't win....

In that fraction of a moment he made the only choice he was capable of.  
Sam launched himself into the surf.

…ooo0ooo…

Past the mermaid’s voice, the pain and ecstasy, Dean heard a sound that he'd been trained to respond to for most of his life.  
Sam's small sound of pain, the one he made when things were really bad.

That sound was hard wired into Dean’s brain, deeper than instinct, responding to it had no thought attached.

Reality crashed in, and Dean became fully aware.

He tried to pull back from the mermaid and break free.

But she was too strong.

Then, Dean remembered Sam's words.

_"It's all I can give you, you need this if you're going to survive... please, don't, swallow."_

That was it! Whatever Sam had slipped him was mermaid poison!

Instead of trying to resist, Dean leaned forward and sealed his mouth over Samantha’s, spat the thing into her mouth as hard as he could.

Her eyes widened in horror, and the hands that had held him fast dropped away, instead she clawed for own her throat in shock.

Dean gripped Samantha tight.

Then Sam was there, plunging the dagger into Samantha from behind.

The water was whipped to froth.  
Blood spread out to stain the water.

Dean felt his grip slip and his feet went out from under him.  
He plunged under, sucking in a mouthful of water that tasted like tears.

…ooo0ooo…

As he fought his way deeper into the water, Sam saw his brother lean in to Samantha as if kissing her.  
The light that had been flickering between their mouths cut off.  
Anger and despair bloomed in his heart.

He was too late; his brother’s soul had been sucked away, this was all his fault.

Too late Sam plunged the dagger into the mermaid, again and again, roaring with fury.

It might be too late, but he’d get revenge, or make Samantha to kill him.  
He'd count that as a win, if Dean was gone.

The water was whipped to froth, blood spread out like a stain.

Dean flew backwards and went under.

Lying fucking mermaid, she was going to let Dean drown, just like all the others.

Sam plunged under, searching for his brother frantically in the dark water.  
He saw something corpse pale through the murk. Grabbed ahold of a cold slippery arm with frantic hands.  
Kicked upwards and hauled Dean with him, back to the surface.

Dean coughed up a mouthful of water, and for a moment he just clung to Sam, heaving for breath.

Then, Dean pushed away from him and grabbed for the mermaid, pulled her up against him.

As Dean held her, the mermaid spoke, said something to his brother, but Sam couldn't hear what it was over the pounding of his heart and his own panting breaths.  
Dean’s soul was gone, sucked away, beyond return. What ever was left only looked like him.

…ooo0ooo…

Breathing was the most beautiful thing Dean had ever experienced.

Sam was okay, the blood wasn't his, that left the mermaid.

Dean looked around and found Samantha floating in the water, blood spreading out into the ocean around her.

Letting go of Sam he found his feet, grabbed for Samantha and hauled her up against his chest. Looked down into her blue, blue eyes.

"Head 'bove water,” Samantha whispered, her lips attempted a smile.  
She coughed and a gout of fresh blood, that looked almost black in the moonlight, trailed from her mouth to stain the water further.

"You don't love me..." Her accusation held no heat, it was more of statement of wonder.

Dean pulled her closer. "Love and lust, two different things sweetheart, can't tie someone to a bed and drug them ta get them to love ya, even I know that..." He answered huskily and swallowed past the lump in his throat.

"Glad..." Samantha reached up a hand and stroked his cheek.

Dean blinked his eyes clear, felt salt water run down his cheeks.

"Couldn't, couldn't love me, no room.... Sam....” Blood bubbled weakly from her mouth.

"Shhh," Dean leaned forward and kissed her forehead, then her lips to stop the words.

Pulled her into his arms and stumbled through the waves up onto the beach, aware of Sam trailing after him.

..............

They knelt in the wet sand, either side, looking down.

Samantha was dying.

In dying, she had returned to her true form.  
From the waist-down, she was all iridescent scales in changing blues, like her eyes.

She was beautiful, whatever else she was and had been.

For the first time, Samantha's eyes left Dean’s face, she looked up at Sam.

"Couldn't .... compete .....alw-ys .....lov-d... y-u..." more blood dribbled from her perfect lips. "Lucky!" She told him and tried to reach up to his face "soo .... s-rry." Her eyes held regret and guilt. "T-ke care o'  y--r broth...."

Sam nodded, swallowed, couldn't speak past the lump in his throat, didn’t want to look over at what had once been his brother. Dean’s body sat mostly naked and dripping, resting back on it’s heels, looking down at the mermaid, face impassive and unreadable.

Behind Sam’s back, under the eye of the moon, the ocean continued to sigh and lap at the shoreline, headless and uncaring.

 .....

Finally, Samantha’s perfect eyes glazed, then slid closed.

She died.

As they knelt there over her body, Samantha began to dissolve.

Soon, she was nothing more than sea-foam.

Then, that too was gone.

Only a small fragment of aquamarine lay on the sand between them.

Both Winchesters sat staring at it for long moments.

Then Dean lent forward and picked it up, looked down at the small sliver of blue in his palm for a long moment. Shrugged and handing it to his brother.

Dean climbed to his feet and gave Sam a hand up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments not just appreciated but required.  
> ....The artwork theme for this chapter was blue.


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

Dean went to collect his clothes, and Sam went to retrieve the grenade launcher. Dean didn't say a word about that when he saw it, simply raised an eyebrow in surprise.

They were both soaked freezing and exhausted, questions could wait.

The thing about hunts is, even once the monster of the week is dead there's always a bucket load of work to do.  
Dean pushed his brother towards the bathroom with orders to get warm and cleaned up, Sam looked like he wanted to object for a moment, but followed orders.

Sammy looked really unhappy, it was there even in the uneven way he breathed.

Dean figured that after what they'd both been through, they had a right to be more than a bit unhappy....  
The job came first, however. Everything else worked around it or got shelved.

Dean toweled off roughly and got dressed. Putting on his boots felt like putting on armor after so many days of vulnerability.

Dean was still scoping the shack, working out what to dispose of and what to leave, when Sam returned with the med kit.

"Dean, you should...." He subsided looking kind of broken, "well at least let me look at your wrists."

"I'm fine, let's just get this done, and get the hell outta here."

Sam shot him another 'look' and again didn't argue.

Dean struggled with the growing worry for his brother, but ruthlessly shelved everything in favor of dealing with the job at hand.

.............

'My brothers got no soul', the thought was tearing Sam apart, every time Sam looked at his brother’s cool emotionless face, fear and grief twisted inside of him.

As they worked together sanitizing the evidence, Sam tried and failed to simply exist in the moment.

The mattress from the bed had to go for a start, soaked as it was with Deans blood. Sam swallowed thickly as they hauled the mattress and the small pile of Samantha’s possessions down to the beach to burn.  
None of this was fair, you'd think after all these years, he would have gotten used to the unfairness of life.

When Dean returned with the impala and the prerequisite cans of accelerant and salt, Sam was still looking for the grenades, when he told Dean what he was doing Dean looked slightly bemused and shrugged.

"Leave 'em Sam, we can get more, let's go light this candle and get the hell out."

As the flames rose into the night, Dean handed Sam a bottle of beer, they sipped in silence side by side, each occupied with their own thoughts.

Then Dean cleared his throat and raised his beer.

"To Samantha, the world’s most terrifying guppy, where ever you went, hope you found peace."

Sam shot his brother a sick look but raised his beer and repeated.

"To Samantha." He exhaled in pain. God Sam hoped that if stealing Dean’s soul sent her anywhere, he hoped it was to eternal torment.

The flames burnt down slowly, finally they could bury anything the flames didn't destroy.

"Well that's it then." Dean rumbled as they walked back to the beach shack. Then he stopped dead, his eyes almost bugging out.

"What?" Sam asked in concern, wondering if now the job was over Dean would just walk away.

Dean gestured to the old bike leaning against the wall.

Sam blinked confused.

Dean gestured again, then started laughing. bent over and gasping.

Finally he got enough air to speak. "Fish," he gasped, seeming ready to start again, "fish riding a, a bicycle!"

It took Sam's battered brain a moment to catch up, and when he did, joy flooded through him.

Because it was so stupid and infantile, and so, so Dean!   
And no one without a soul could find it _that_ funny.

Sam found himself laughing too.

In the life they lived.  
A sense of humor in the face of situations that were pretty much a clusterfuck.... That, truly was, A Thing of Beauty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there's one more chapter after this one. Thanks for reading and thank-you to all of you that have commented and kudosed thus far.  
> I might get it up this weekend if ....yada yada etc. etc.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**  
**(Epilogue and obligatory fluffy scene)**

Sam was frowning at the laptop again, Dean could almost see smoke rising from his ears.  
Sammy was trying to work things out, to understand, and that was all fine and good. But in this case Dean wasn't sure Sam was ever going to get satisfactory answers.

Was it the aquamarine?

Was it drinking so much of Sam's blood? had she gotten a dose of humanity, like some blood born illness like Hep’ C?

Was it the bronze dagger and Sam's blood, had the stuff off the floor just not been effective?

Was it as simple as time running out?

Or, and this one, Dean found the most uncomfortable of all, was it like in the Hans Christian Anderson fairy-tale. Did she die because the object of her desire loved another?

That last one was just freaking stupid, no matter what the mermaid had said.

Dean couldn't deny he loved his kid brother, but only an idiot would think it was, well... you know.... Because love was very different than Love.....

Dean scrubbed at his lips with the back of his hand thinking sullenly that he was immensely glad Chuck was on a road trip with Amara, and not writing 'Winchester gospels.'

For Dean, it was easy to let it go, shove it all in another box marked "leave me the fuck alone," and kick it to the back of his head, with the growing collection of its brethren, if things got too restless back there, Dean was fully prepared to drown the lot with copious amounts of whiskey.

Sam on the other hand, couldn't help picking at it like a kid with a scab.

Striding over, Dean shut the laptop firmly making his brother yelp in surprise.

"Come on Sammy, we've gotta go."

"We hitting the road?" Sam frowned at him, looking a bit puzzled.

"Just come on bitch, we got stuff to do."

"I w-as doing stuff, Jerk." Sam argued, waving irritably at his laptop.

"Yep,” he agreed shortly. “But that can wait, daylights burning, move your shaggy butt."

Sam followed reluctantly between bitchy glares, which his big brother magnanimously ignored.

...ooo0ooo...

The sea and sky filled the impala’s windscreen, sun glinting off black paintwork buffed to midnight blue by the arc of cerulean above.  
The sound of the ocean and the cry of seabirds as they dashed back and forth between the lapping waves seeped into the silence left by Baby's stilled engine.

For a second the memory of a night-time sea, with the moon above, threatened to drown him. But Dean pushed it aside and looked across at his little brother.

"Uhm Dean..." Sam looked puzzled, the confusion made his brother smile, yeah this is right, Dean told himself with a nod.

Dean pushed the door open and slid out, enjoying the satisfying sound and solidity that was part of his number one girl. Grabbing the chiller, he looked back at his confused brother with a grin.

"You comin' or what Sammy?"

"Where?" Sam looked like a confused retriever, and Dean had to fight the urge to tussle his kid brother’s hair.

"See that yellow stuff, it's called sand, the sorta shiny blue stuff, is water... It's called a b-e-a-c-h Sam."

"I'm not an idiot, Dean." Sam grumbled getting out and doing a 180 of the view.

"And today, we're gonna build a sandcastle." Dean continued sliding his eyes sideways to his brothers face for a reaction.

"A...."

"Sandcastle." Dean finished for him.

"Awww come on Dean...."

Dean let out a long-suffering sigh.  
"Come on Sammy…....Ya know Sam, I've never built a sandcastle." His green eyes looked up into Sam's hazel ones, and for a moment Sam saw a much younger Dean, one with blonde choppy hair and splodgey freckles holding his own, once very small hand, tugging him along ……'come on Sammy.'

Sam felt a smile shape his mouth and just let go for a moment.

"Yeah, okay.... you know I don't think I've ever built a sandcastle either...."

The smile Dean shot him was beautiful. "Really…? Not even at Stanford, with Jess' or somethin'?"

"Nah...." Sam swallowed back the comment about it being kids’ stuff, and just shared a smile with his brother.

"Okay then!"

...ooo0ooo...

In the end, it was far from kids’ stuff.

After much debate and good natured squabbling, involving a lot of the words "Bitch" and "Jerk," a plan was laid.

Because Sam was involved it had to resemble an actual piece of American architecture.

Because Dean was involved it had to be a towering marvel designed to be seen from space, or at least a fair way down the beach.

Shovels and buckets were required, boots and shirts discarded and jeans rolled up, every so often a hoot of laughter, flying sand or a bucket of sea water would make the birds along the shore take flight in surprise, scolding in annoyance at the invaders.

The cooler emptied slowly of beer and snacks as things proceeded, which possibility accounted for why some parts needed rebuilding a few times.

A few hot women in bikinis stopped to marvel at the sight of two grown men industriously creating the huge sand edifice. Quite a few of them were enjoying the view of more than just the sea or the sandcastle.  
Today however, Dean didn't even spare them a glance.

Three hours later it was done.

A man walking his golden Labrador, answered the call and snapped a few photos with the offered cell phones, amused by the two men standing side by side arms draped over each other in front of the giant thing. They were grinning like loons and looking for all the world like two kids on their first beach trip. It was sort of infectious.

 

….

"Building a sandcastle ticked off the bucket list. With extreme prejudice, I might add. That puppy's a thing of beauty," Dean enthused.

Looking over his shoulder one last time, Sam smiled and ruffled his hair trying to get rid of the worst of the sand. They walked back to where the impala waited.

"Thanks for this Dean, it was cool."

"It was awesome!" Dean favored Sam with a lazy grin, "and I'm an awesome big brother, don't you forget it Sammy!"

Sam huffed. "And soo modest," he groused shoving Deans shoulder.

...ooo0ooo...

Jody Mills was having a bad day, there were days when being Sheriff was just one problem after another, and they all ended up on her desk.  
Jody knew you couldn't keep everyone happy all the time, but today it seemed she couldn't make anyone happy.

Then, she'd gotten home, and walked into World War III between Alex and Claire.  
Damn, she loved those girls, but there were days when she really thought she'd bitten off more than she could chew.

Two doors slammed, and Jody sighed. All she'd managed was to make both girls mad at her as well.

After pouring herself a glass of wine Jodie slumped at the kitchen table, head in her hands.

Her phone beeped and she stifled a groan, what now?

Jody looked down at the photo, a tired smile crept its way onto her face.

Sam and Dean Winchester grinned back at her from the photo flanked by a giant sandcastle. “Our first sandcastle!” The subtitle proclaimed.

Jody tapped her thumb against the side of her phone grinning back at the photo, downing her glass of wine she squared her shoulders and went to knock on bedroom doors. At least she had an icebreaker now.

...ooo0ooo...

Castiel was having a bad day, he knew Crowley was a demon, the King of Hell, no less. And don’t ever forget it. But why did he have to be so, very, annoying. He wished Crowley would just be quiet for a bit.

His phone blipped to notify he had received a message.

It was a photo of Sam and Dean standing behind a three-foot-high copy of the Capitol Building made of what appeared to be sand.

"Our first sandcastle"

Crowley leaned over Cas's shoulder to peer at the screen. For a moment, Cas felt like snapping "Personal space," just like Dean was always doing to him.

"So, that's what Moose and Squirrel get up to while their betters are working." Crowley griped pulling out his own phone and checking his messages.  
"Why don't I get road trip photos from Bevis and Butthead?" There was a definite whine in his tone.

"I think that would be because they consider me to be their friend, and you are just what can be described as a work acquaintance."

Crowley’s mouth clicked shut and for the next two hours he didn't say a word.

A small smile curved Castiel’s vessel’s lips as he surveyed the photo again.

Sam and Dean always had a way of saving him.

...ooo0ooo...

Mary Winchester looked down at the picture on her cell phone, running a finger over the two faces that grinned back at her. She wondered why Deans hair was blonde, it reminded her more of her Dean, all constant chatter and freckles. She thought she saw something of her wee Sammy in the dimples and smile.

They were her boys.

"Our first sandcastle" the text proclaimed, with all the pride and joy of two small boys.

Maybe her little boys were still in there after all, maybe she hadn't missed everything.

With a soft smile, Mary Winchester held her phone to her heart, feeling something loosen in her chest.

Tomorrow was another day and it was nearly time she found her way home, to her boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okayyyy that's a wrap!
> 
> I hope most of you enjoyed the journey.
> 
> And I'd love some more feedback (after all why else post stuff for others to read, if you don't want that.)   
> If you liked it at all, (or even if you hated it ) drop me a comment.   
> I'm trying to decide if I should bother bringing another of my fics over.
> 
> This was written before Mary starting playing with the British Men of Letters.   
> By the end of season 12, I had more sympathy for the mermaid than Mary Winchester. Maybe under all her crappy decisions she wants to be the kind of mother they need, but if so, that is really down deep.


End file.
